


Charades: Part One

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Urban Fantasy, wild youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 88,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles and Ethan deal with issues of responsibility, duty, destiny and their own significance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published regularly between May 2003 - March 2005. The story begins some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Charades is the fourth volume of the epic saga, and we have split it into unequal halves to allow for the insertion of the Christmas Special -- Five Gold Rings -- at the right place.

__  
**Then...**  


Rupert Giles woke to a variety of smells: stale incense and tobacco, hot coffee, a musty old attic type of scent, and what he quickly realised was the potpourri of last night's athletic sex. It was the latter, of course, that reminded him of where he was.

"Morning has broken," said his erstwhile bed partner, naked bar an open shirt and now kneeling by the bed holding two steaming mugs. "Or perhaps just the few remaining springs in those mattresses."

"We did give them a workout last night," Rupert acknowledged as he pulled himself into a sitting position, half-covered by the sheets. "Is that coffee?"

"There was a bit of a problem with the tea." The other boy, Ethan, grinned, his eyes twinkling. "In that I could only pocket coffee the last time I went shopping, before I got spotted and had to scarper for it. It's Nescafe, so could be worse."

"S'fine," Rupert muttered as he took one of the mugs. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the steam, that action enough to start shaking the fuzzy cobwebs from his brain. "Thanks."

Ethan slid into a sitting position, leaning against the mattresses. He was sitting very close to Rupert's legs, not quite touching, and gazing up at him, a half-smile on his lips. "Sleep well?"

"In spite of the condition of the mattress springs." Rupert took a sip of his coffee and studied the other boy.

Ethan's face was clean of the glitter and make up from the night before, but Rupert noticed fresh black eyeliner, at the very least, had been applied since. Ethan looked younger in the morning light. There was an air of vulnerability that hadn't been apparent the night before. In some ways, it made him seem even more fey and otherworldly than he had in the club; certainly he didn't seem to fit these dismal surroundings that looked shabbier and more dilapidated in the harsh light of day.

Ethan's gaze kept moving down Rupert's body only to be dragged back up to his face again. "You look..." He stopped, momentarily hesitant, but then a very deliberate leer appeared on his face. "Lickable."

All right, perhaps 'vulnerable' was the wrong word, Rupert thought, as the look being directed his way was definitely predatory and, so his body informed him, very intriguing.

"Didn't you get enough last night?" he asked, even as he shifted in such a way as to make the blanket fall lower on his hips.

"Oh," Ethan said, his gaze fixed to the area where Rupert's nakedness met the covering. "I don't think 'enough' is at all applicable here." His arm, which was obscured from Rupert, twitched, and the blanket jerked lower still.

"I'm getting the feeling that I'm on the breakfast menu."

"Would you rather a plate of eggs and bacon? I could probably rustle up something that looked a little like them." The blanket inched further still, then dropped to Rupert's legs. "I know what I fancy."

Rupert considered Ethan and what was being offered for a long moment. The memories from the night before were enough to tip the balance, and he quickly finished his coffee and put his mug aside. Then he just looked at Ethan expectantly.

Ethan put his untouched mug of coffee down and slid sinuously up onto the mattresses beside Rupert. The weight of both of them together made a substantial valley and pushed them into each other. Ethan licked his lips, looking at Rupert's, but instead of moving forward for a kiss, he raised a finger to trace Rupert's mouth.

Rupert smiled slightly, watching Ethan's eyes. "What?" he asked softly.

Ethan's smile was almost coy. "It's not for me to take; it's for you to give."

There was something about the words that seemed to resonate inside Rupert, and he found himself shaking his head in denial before he could stop. Speaking from a place within him that seemed to recognise both the words and this boy, Rupert countered with, "It's for both of us to give."

Ethan frowned a little, but then laughed. "All right," he agreed. "You first."

That broke whatever the strange moment was, and Rupert grinned as he leant in to kiss Ethan. "If you insist."

***

 __  
**Now...**  


"You sure you don't want to do this in the living room?" Rupert asked, looking at the grey sky above them.

"That depends on whether you actually want to get anything done today or not," Ethan answered with a smirk, although privately, he did indeed wonder if they were getting too old to stand out in the chill like this.

It was bloody cold. December started tomorrow, but the wintry weather had been with them two days already, with cloudless sunny days made icy by a blustery northwester and nights of heavy frost.

Ethan and Rupert were in their back garden, cloaked from prying eyes from neighbours' houses by some special Council wards modified by Ethan and charged up by Rupert. They were out here, wrapped up in woollen garb and their Barbour coats, to practice merging their magics. They were significantly behind with the exercises set to them by their mentors because every time they tried...

Well, they had a tendency to get quickly distracted.

"All it takes is a bit of willpower," Rupert muttered, although even he didn't sound completely convinced.

"Perhaps you can buy that in cans?" Ethan giggled and moved closer to Rupert as he pulled one of his gloves off. "So, I believe we never finished the rose."

Rupert mirrored his action, holding his hand out for Ethan to take. "Because someone decided he would rather jump me."

"Au contraire, mon cher. I was the jumpee on that occasion. I remember it as if it were yesterday." Ethan grinned and took Rupert's hand. They were facing each other and standing close.

"Perhaps because it was yesterday?" Rupert asked as their fingers entwined, and he let his magic flow through their touch.

Ethan drew cold air into his lungs as he reacted to the feel of Rupert's magic, and he tried very hard not to think about Rupert's lips and how nice they would be to kiss out here while their bodies were swathed in so much thick material. There would be something both romantic and erotic about the act. Something almost Film Noir... and he really did need to be concentrating on the exercise.

Sighing, he let his own magic surge out to build the basic glowing framework of a rose to the side of them.

"Oh yes, I can see how this is going to make resisting so much easier," Rupert teased, fine-tuning the magic flow that provided the power for the framework Ethan was building.

"What did I do?" Ethan asked, confused. "Are you reading my thoughts? If you're reading my thoughts we're doomed from the start."

Rupert chuckled, the sound warm and textured against Ethan's ears. "Not your thoughts, just your face. I've been quite familiar with that particular expression of yours for decades."

"Oh." Ethan grinned. "Well, they were very nice thoughts." The framework, which was little more than a three-dimensional sketch, was complete.

"I'm sure they were, love. They always are, which is part of the reason we've been having so many problems finishing this exercise." As he spoke, Rupert carefully and deftly shaped their combined magic into a petal along the outside of the soon to be rose sculpture. "Your turn."

"I was only thinking about kissing. That's quite innocent, isn't it?" Ethan shaped another petal, one edge folded under Rupert's. "Just my lips to your lips, our breath escaping in little misty clouds, our mouths impossibly hot when the air on our faces is so cold..."

Rupert leant a little bit closer before catching himself and pulling back. "Yes, I can't imagine how that could possibly get us into trouble."

Ethan gave him a long and sultry look, but just said, "Your turn," his own petal done.

"You're going to have to stop looking at me like that." Rupert added another petal overlapping Ethan's.

"Like what precisely?" Ethan asked not at all innocently, now gazing at the rose that they were making. Feeling Rupert shape their mingled magic was undeniably erotic. The careful, almost pedantic touch of Rupert's – everything had to be just so - that was just how he was during their lovemaking, and it made Ethan's breathing dig a little bit deeper, a little bit faster.

The look Rupert sent him then did nothing to cool him down. With half-lidded eyes and the faintest traces of a smile, it was an invitation for all sorts of wickedness. "That look."

Ethan started the next petal. His free hand absently loosened the scarf around his neck as he was starting to feel slightly over-warm. "Ah. That one." Ethan leant towards Rupert, his petal still half-finished. "Dearheart..."

"Yes?" Rupert's eyes focused on Ethan's mouth.

Ethan lifted his still-gloved hand to trace Rupert's face. "One kiss. One kiss couldn't hurt, could it?"

Rupert's lips curled up slightly at the corners. "I very much fear that those could be considered famous last words." Nonetheless, he leant in close enough that Ethan could feel his breath against his face.

Ethan couldn't not close the gap. He pressed his lips to Rupert's, absently finishing the petal as his concentration moved to the kiss, the sensations every bit as wonderful as he'd imagined. Rupert's free hand came up and slid behind Ethan's head, holding him in place as the kiss deepened. For a moment anyway.

Then Rupert firmly but reluctantly pulled back. "It's getting quite warm out here, isn't it?"

Ethan pouted, then smiled slyly as Rupert's words registered. He lifted his free hand to help divest Rupert of some extraneous clothing. "You just make your petal. Let me do this."

He felt Rupert turn his attention to constructing the next petal, although it took the man twice as long as the ones before.

"That's wonky," Ethan pointed out, completely untruthfully. "That's not at all up to your usual standard." He had opened Rupert's scarf and the top flap of the Barbour and was now slowly unzipping the waxed coat.

Rupert leant in and kissed Ethan again, making quite a thorough job of it, enough to steal Ethan's breath. "Your turn," he said with a smug smile when he pulled back.

"All right," Ethan agreed happily and moved in to kiss Rupert again.

Laughing, Rupert moved back, keeping the same distance between them. "On the rose, I meant."

Pouting once more, Ethan made another petal, but he was barely looking at the rose. He was running his gloved hand over the front of Rupert's coat. "Do you know what these Barbours always make me think about?"

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Rupert murmured as he reached out and created another petal that half-covered Ethan's. "What do they make you think about?"

"That day on the cliff top in the storm. What happened, what we then did..."

He watched Rupert's eyes darken with pleasure at the memory. "You were magnificent."

"I felt like I could fly," Ethan remembered, his hand slipping inside Rupert's opened coat and under the thick sweater beneath it. "And then we shared magic for the first time. Really shared it, I mean – no Chaos making everything taste bitter. Just pure us for the first time, and you took me on the grass as our magics blended almost seamlessly, and... oh sod it, Rupert, we've done enough practising for today, haven't we?"

"We've barely started," Rupert protested, but it was a very weak protest.

Ethan deliberately let his magic travel further up Rupert's arm and stepped closer. Bugger the rose. Or rather, bugger something else altogether. "I need you," he said intensely, locking gazes with Rupert, who groaned as he gave in, pulling Ethan flush against him and devouring his mouth.

They had far too many clothes on. Their bare hands were still clasped, but the hand Ethan had under Rupert's sweater was gloved, and that would never do. Ethan pushed himself against Rupert and moaned, the noise more a complaint than anything else.

"Doing this outside in the cold was your idea," Rupert reminded him, chuckling as he pulled back enough to work on unbuttoning, unzipping and pushing material aside.

There seemed to be a mutual agreement not to separate their clasped hands, which made actually stripping impossible. "Are you going to keep us warm?" Ethan asked, between attempts to kiss whatever parts of Rupert he could reach. "Or are we going inside?"

Rupert seemed to think about it for a long moment as he continued to try to get down to Ethan's skin. "Yes?" he finally ventured.

Well, if Rupert, the brain of the pair, was that far gone, there was no way Ethan wanted to be left behind. He lifted his gloved hand to his mouth, biting the material between his teeth and pulling the glove off. He let it drop to the ground. The air was immediately bitter on his hand, as it was on his belly where Rupert had successfully reached his objective.

"Let there be heat, dearheart," he said and pressed his bared hand onto the front of Rupert's trousers.

Growling and taking Ethan's mouth in a hard kiss once again, Rupert propelled Ethan backwards until his back was flush against the door back inside. Once he had Ethan pinned there, he ground his hips against him, trapping Ethan's hand between their bodies.

God, when Rupert was like this, Ethan lost all common sense, not that he exactly had a lot in the first place. But it made him so hard to be manhandled by Rupert, to be pushed and pulled and, well, the illusion of forced. He submitted joyfully to the assault on his mouth and struggled with his trapped hand to open Rupert's fly.

Rupert finally pulled back slightly with muffled laughter. "Far too many clothes. This isn't working." With his free hand, he fumbled for the door latch, opening it and suddenly depriving Ethan of the surface he had been leaning against.

"Fu–" was all Ethan managed to get out before he landed hard on his arse in the study. He scowled up at Rupert. "I hope you're going to kiss it better."

Rupert just smiled down at him as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The heating was on high, and the air in the room was very warm compared to outside. "Get undressed, and we'll see," he said, already stripping off his own gloves and coat.

Requiring no further instruction, Ethan struggled to his knees and out of his coat. His jumper and shirt quickly followed. He stared at Rupert the whole time. "I need you," he said again.

Rupert had matched Ethan in his disrobing, getting rid of garment after garment. "I need you naked," he replied, toeing off his shoes and undoing his trousers.

Ethan undid his belt and his trousers, but then he paused, stopped by the sight of Rupert in front of him, naked bar his socks and very hard. "Oh," Ethan said quietly, his head tipped slightly to one side. He moistened his lips and stared.

"See something you like?" Rupert asked with a wolfish smile.

Ethan's gaze flickered between Rupert's face and the strong cock in front of him. "Yes, please," he said a little breathlessly. "Use me, Ripper. Take what you want." Magic words, almost ritual; he'd said them so many times before.

"I want you." Rupert crooked one finger, beckoning Ethan closer.

He shuffled forward clumsily on his knees, shackled as they were by his trousers, which had fallen as far down as they could. "You've got me."

Rupert reached out and brushed fingers sparking with his magic through Ethan's hair. "I know."

Shivering under the touch, Ethan pushed up into it. He was breathing heavily, wanting badly, but he made himself wait for Rupert to take or to instruct.

Rupert's hand slid down, fingers tracing over Ethan's features, lingering on his lips. "God, I love your mouth." Not able to help himself, Ethan sucked the fingers in. He ran his tongue over them, tasting the magic. "Want to use it somewhere else?" Rupert asked.

The fingers still deep in his mouth, Ethan nodded slightly.

Rupert smiled and pulled his hand back. "All right then. I'm sure I can trust to your initiative," Rupert told him, looking at him expectantly.

That was instruction enough. Ethan raised his hands, placed them flat onto Rupert's chest, one over each nipple, and dragged them down Rupert's body, trailing magic behind them. When they reached his hips, Ethan held them. As he always did, he then shut his eyes and pressed his closed lips to the tip of Rupert's cock.

"Love you," Rupert murmured; Ethan could feel his gaze on him.

He inhaled through his nose, relishing Rupert's musky scent, and then opened his lips. Licking them, letting a slight buzz of magic fill them, Ethan then welcomed the taut head of Rupert's cock through onto his tongue.

"Yes." The word came out on a soft breath as Rupert's hand once again fell to rest on Ethan's hair.

Ethan worked his way down the shaft, slicking with spit and magic, before returning to concentrate on the head. He sucked and worked with his tongue, enjoying the activity almost as much as if it were being done to him, more in certain ways.

He felt Rupert's fingers tighten on his head, magic coming out to entwine with his. "God, what you do with your mouth," Rupert groaned, "should be illegal."

Ethan glanced up, met Rupert's eyes, and grinned around his mouthful. Keeping Rupert's gaze, Ethan let power run from his tongue, filling his husband's cock and surging further, deeper, pulsing and shimmering. And then, as Rupert was still reeling from that, Ethan started to move up and down on the shaft, taking it deeper each time until he was deep-throating.

Rupert swore, and his other hand came up. He gripped Ethan's head, guiding his movements, which was exactly what Ethan had wanted; it felt so good.

Letting himself relax, Ethan allowed Rupert to do as he wished, providing suction, a firm pillow of active tongue, and a subtle edge of tooth as required. This was one of his favourite things, having Rupert use his mouth, and it entranced him every time. Something about timing his breaths, his licks and his swallows, responding to changes in Rupert's rhythm almost before he made them; it was complex ritual, and he loved it.

Rupert was breathing harshly as he took Ethan's mouth over and over, and there were words muttered in amongst those gasps for air, things like "good" and "love" and "don't stop."

Ethan groaned low in his throat, and almost despite himself, found one of his hands straying to his own cock, pulling it from his boxers and groaning again at the touch of his hand. He looked up at Rupert, not quite asking permission as he was already doing it anyway, but wanting to check that there was no frown.

There was no frown; on the contrary, the heated gaze that met his when he looked up seemed to suggest Ethan was doing something very, very right. And if he still wasn't sure, the pulse of Rupert's magic that went through his entire body in a pleasurable surge laid to rest any doubts.

Ethan was so very turned on; he wanted to swear or move, but he couldn't really do either. So he made do with noises, groans and whimpers, with which he tried to vibrate his throat as much as possible to add to Rupert's experience. He pulled on his own cock with unthinking violence, all his subtlety saved for his mouth.

Rupert groaned loudly, his movements becoming more forceful and desperate, and less concerned about his level of roughness. God, Ethan found this so bloody exhilarating.

Impulsively, Ethan lifted his free hand from Rupert's hip and brought it to his own head, clasping it over the top of one of Rupert's hands and inter-linking their fingers as much as he could. He let the hands fill with magic, mixing his with Rupert's as they had outside.

That sent the awareness of one another's pleasure sky-rocketing and sent Rupert over the edge into his climax. The salty warmth filling his mouth was more than enough to ensure Ethan quickly followed. Their combined magic ebbed and flowed along with the peak of their pleasure, finally settling down to its usual constant.

Rupert pulled back enough to sink down to the floor beside Ethan, who himself had slid into a sitting position. Their hands twisted together, finding a new arrangement, but remaining clasped.

After flexing and rotating his jaw for a few seconds, easing tight muscles, Ethan moved closer and stole a soft kiss. "There now. Wasn't that better than a pointless exercise?" His voice was ever so slightly hoarse, a fact which made him smile with smug pleasure.

"It was good," Rupert said, moving to lie on his back and pulling Ethan against him. "It always is, but it's not getting us much further with our training."

Snuggling close, Ethan sighed, playing his fingers of his free hand over Rupert's chest. "I really do think the exercises may be pointless, dearheart. Lucy and Ian are doing their best, but they're guessing. They have to be. We're the first couple to get this far in living memory, if not some considerable time before that."

Rupert frowned. "Still, without training and practice..."

"We've never practised the telepathy," Ethan pointed out. "But it's there whenever we need it."

"But this is different." Rupert looked suddenly uncertain. "Isn't it?"

Ethan frowned, thinking it over, and then rolled onto his back beside Rupert, lifting their linked hands between them. "Let's see, shall we? Let's make a rose. None of this one petal at a time business, just think 'rose'." And with his mind, he added, _'Think it with me.'_

Still frowning, Rupert reached out with his magic and did as Ethan had bid; Ethan could feel Rupert's thought as clearly as his own.

Ethan didn't know if it was because they were now so in tune with each other that they individually thought of the same rose, or because they were, somehow, actually thinking together, as if with one mind. But somehow a perfect rose of magic flickered into existence above them, almost like a neon light had just switched on.

Rupert stared upwards at it. "Not bad."

"Agreed, not bad. More like sodding great." Ethan knew Rupert had to be more impressed than he was letting on.

"Of course, we've been trying to build that damn rose for days now, so it would make sense that we could skip all the steps on it by now."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Let's make something else then. A galleon maybe, with all the sails and rigging. Will that satisfy the exacting standards of the Head of the Council?"

But Rupert was still frowning. "It just seems too easy."

"Not easy," Ethan corrected, feeling increasingly certain. "Natural." He rolled to his side again. "This is us, Rupert. This is what we are together. Neither of us could do that apart, not without the necessary rote or conscious manipulation. But when we're together, it's our nature."

"But still," Rupert protested, "just because it is, doesn't mean we shouldn't have to work at it. Even Slayers have to train and practise."

"Every time we have sex and share magic doing it, we're practising. All we need to work on is strengthening the bond still further; everything else will come naturally." Ethan frowned. "Poor Rupert." He leant over and kissed his husband softly. "This is hard for you, isn't it?"

"The fact that it doesn't seem to be hard at all is what's making it hard," Rupert admitted wryly, pulling Ethan closer.

"No rules to learn and follow by rote," Ethan agreed sympathetically. "No logical path to follow. This is so much more my thing than yours." He kissed Rupert again. "Will you let me help?"

The corners of Rupert's eyes crinkled as he smiled in amusement. "What did you have in mind, love?"

"Well..." Ethan thought about it seriously for a moment or two, but then grinned. "I've always been rather good at bypassing your need for structure, haven't I? All it takes is the right sort of distraction." He trailed a single finger over Rupert's right nipple, releasing a short sharp shock of magic at the appropriate moment.

Rupert gasped softly. "So you're just going to keep me in a state of perpetual arousal?"

"Or otherwise distracted by my masculine wiles." Ethan's charged finger moved downward, played under the ridge of Rupert's ribs and circumnavigated the nasty scar on his flank. "They say all sorts of things are easy if the anxious intellect can be made to look in the other direction."

"Is that what they say?" Rupert asked, his voice becoming deeper and huskier as he reacted to Ethan's touch.

"Haven't you always found it to be so?" Ethan rose to his knees and straddled Rupert, deciding he wanted to do this exploration that he'd started more thoroughly.

"Depends on what it is you're trying to do." Rupert remained passive, letting Ethan do what he would.

To start with, Ethan used the fingers of both hands to trace Rupert's face, the magic in his fingertips little more than a tingle. "Ride a bike, ice skate, drive a car, use a keyboard, dance: all things that go more smoothly if the mind doesn't interfere with the body." He followed the line of Rupert's eye sockets, the bridge of his nose, his hairline and his jawbone, and the slight hollows of his cheeks. "Art too, even putting on make up. Fastest way to a wrecked canvas is by letting the intellect have a say."

"All those things require training to learn to do them in the first place," Rupert pointed out, although he'd closed his eyes and seemed to be melting under Ethan's attentions.

"Not all of them," Ethan argued as his fingers followed the contours of Rupert's ears and then over his neck, finding and travelling each muscle, prominent vein, and tendon. "No one ever taught me how to dance, for instance. Did anyone ever teach you to sing?"

Rupert tilted his head back, giving Ethan better access. "Not officially," he allowed.

"What does that mean?" Ethan drew circles around Rupert's Adam's apple and dipped into the hollow above his collar bone. He badly wanted to bend and kiss all these places that he was touching with his fingers, and so he did. This exercise was about following one's instincts, after all.

"There's a lot that can be learnt listening to others sing, plus there was some training in breathing and phrasing when I was in choir at public school." Rupert had raised a hand, and his fingers skimmed lightly through Ethan's hair as he spoke.

"And do you use the formal training when you sing now? Or do you just sing the way some instinct tells you would be best?" Ethan kissed and licked around Rupert's neck now, dipping his tongue into the hollows and nibbling very gently over the pulse point.

"I, uh..." Rupert seemed to be losing his train of thought. "I've internalised what I've learnt... with training and practise."

"Of course you have." There was mild sarcasm in Ethan's tone. He moved his attention down, following Rupert's collarbone to his closest shoulder. "Dearheart?"

"Yes?"

"Who taught you how to fuck?"

"What?" Rupert asked, laughter in his voice.

Ethan nibbled into the muscles of Rupert's shoulder, hard enough to be felt but not quite painful. In between bites, he said, "You are, my dear, somewhat talented in that area and always have been. So, who taught you?"

"I... Do you really want to know?" Rupert sounded more serious than Ethan had expected in response to that question.

Ethan froze in place, his face averted from Rupert. "Someone really taught you? I thought..." He felt a ridiculous sinking sensation inside him; how idiotic to feel such acute jealousy about something so long ago. "Well, my attempt to prove a point seems to have backfired." He tried to keep his voice dryly amused rather than upset, but he knew Rupert would know anyway.

Rupert brushed his fingers against Ethan's cheek. "It was when I was still at school and still being the dutiful son and proper student," he said softly as if sharing a confidence. "Kieran was a year ahead of me and exactly the opposite. In some ways, he was a lot like you, always leading me astray."

Ethan felt physically sick and his awareness of what a stupid git he was being didn't help. He had, of course, known he wasn't the first. But he was meant to be the first that had mattered. There shouldn't have been anyone before him who Rupert could still remember the name of now, yet alone speak of with something approaching fondness and compare to Ethan.

He wriggled off Rupert and sat up, his back to his husband, and said nothing.

Rupert continued talking in the same soft, reflective voice. "I've always been quite grateful to him; if not for my time with Kieran, I'd never have had the courage to start going to the clubs, which was where I met you." He moved, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Ethan's waist and pressing his chest to Ethan's back. "But Kieran was never any more than a friend with whom I occasionally played some naked games. We went our separate ways with no regrets and no yearning. But you," he murmured directly into Ethan's ear, "from the start got yourself into my soul, so deep that there's never been a chance of getting you back out."

Which was, of course, the perfect thing to say, and that made Ethan even more annoyed with himself as the jealousy was still there, still eating at his insides, where it had no right to be. He made a small noise and wrapped his own arms firmly over Rupert's, as if trying to get held more tightly.

"I'm afraid, love, you're just going to have to accept that I've done very little if anything in my life without preparation beforehand." Rupert nuzzled Ethan's ear. "Except, perhaps, for falling in love."

Ethan didn't care about the point he'd been trying to make anymore, but he couldn't open his mouth to try to tell Rupert that as he knew all that would come out would be inadvisable questions such as: What had Kieran looked like? What exactly had he taught Rupert? Had they kept in touch at all? Would Rupert mind if Ethan committed a very small murder?

He'd always been like this about Rupert's other lovers, of course, but previous to them getting back together, it had been easy to hide the jealousy under cruelty and jaded wit. And nowadays, he could talk about those he'd long known about –- Jenny, to name the most important -– and actually feel warmth towards her for giving Rupert some small amount of happiness along the way.

But this, somehow, was different.

"I seem to be feeling a trifle sick," he said, which was true enough, and he tried to struggle out of Rupert's arms in order to stand up.

Rupert, however, refused to let him go. "Talk to me, Ethan."

"Really, Rupert. Encouraging me to talk at this moment is far from a sterling idea."

"It's better than sitting here and letting you swallow down whatever you're feeling to the point of making yourself ill," Rupert pointed out.

He made one more half-hearted attempt to escape and then gave in, slumping back against Rupert. "I'm an old fool."

"If you think you can hide from me, then yes, you are." Rupert nuzzled into the curve of Ethan's neck where it met his shoulder. "You don't have to, you know. Hide."

Ethan stared down at Rupert's arms around him and stopped fighting the feelings inside him. "I am overjoyed," he said, wishing he didn't feel quite so self-aware, "to discover that someone broke you in. Someone you still remember now. Tell me, do you still exchange Christmas cards? Reminisce occasionally about that day he taught you to enjoy rimming?"

"I haven't had any contact with Kieran since I left for university, and he went abroad. Going to shag his way across Europe, he said." Rupert's voice was calm and matter of fact as he answered the questions. "No cards, Christmas or otherwise, have been exchanged. I was a complete wally before Kieran 'broke me in'. You wouldn't have looked twice at me back then, not in a lecherous way at least."

Ethan had to laugh at that. "You've no bloody idea, have you? You could have been dressed as Chico the sodding Clown, and I would still have recognised you for who you were." Ethan was getting cold, despite the central heating. There was a noise coming from behind the living room door that he sincerely hoped was Gwydion and not Megan home early from her training.

"I fear I was more of a wally than even Chico the Clown," Rupert said with wry self-humour, even as he tightened his embrace.

Ethan wriggled and squirmed in Rupert's arms until he was facing him. Cupping Rupert's face in his hands, he said, "It was you I was looking for, not some fashion accessory, or even just a nice bloke to look after me. You. Do you understand?" It was excessively important suddenly that Rupert did understand. "I didn't even really notice what you looked like the first time I clasped eyes on you. I just saw you laugh at something and half-died on the dance floor. Because it was _you_."

He saw wonder flash through Rupert's eyes as his words sunk in. "You must have thought me exceedingly slow, considering how long it took me to realise how... essential you are to me."

Ethan smiled weakly. "I think that takes us full circle to knowing and trusting one's instincts again."

Rupert smiled back and leant in for a kiss. "Would it help if I say I'm sorry you didn't get to completely corrupt me from scratch?"

"You never told me about him," Ethan said sulkily, but then had to laugh darkly at himself. "Probably because you knew how I'd react." He sighed. "Will I ever feel secure in your continued presence, do you think?"

"I don't know." Rupert sighed too and leant in, resting his forehead against Ethan's. "Maybe you'll manage around the same time I manage to feel completely secure in yours."

The jealously was quietened for now, but there was still an uncomfortable angsty feeling inside of Ethan. He hugged Rupert as tightly as he could. "However close we get..."

"It can never be close enough," Rupert murmured, his breath soft and warm against Ethan's lips as he moved to kiss him. "But this is a good start."


	2. Chapter 2

"That's it. Brush the little monster bald if you have to. I'm fed up with all my clothes looking like they're made from mohair." Ethan was perched on the arm of the sofa watching Giles groom Gwydion.

"If you steal a dog, you have to put up with a little dog hair," Giles told him, not looking up from his brushing of the puppy, who was trying to wriggle under the attention despite the command Giles had given him to stay still.

"If you'd just use that special clothes-brush I got you–" Megan started. She was curled up in the opposite corner of the sofa with a book she was meant to be studying as part of her training.

"That's not a brush," Ethan told her. "It's a roll of Sellotape with a handle."

"It would still help get rid of the excess dog hair." Giles glanced up at Ethan. "If you used it instead of frowning at it like it was going to attack you in your sleep."

Ethan folded his arms. "It will make my clothes sticky."

Megan had actually demonstrated the brush for them, so Giles realised Ethan had to know his statement was untrue. "You, love, are a clothing snob," he told him.

Ethan's eyebrow raised slightly. "This is hardly news, is it?"

Megan giggled and turned a page.

"Well, now you're a clothing snob with a dog. I suggest you get used to the hair." Finished with the grooming, Giles set the brush down and fed Gwydion one of the doggie treats he'd taken to carrying in his pocket.

Gwydion yapped a thank you and, apparently understanding he was being dismissed, scampered into the kitchen where he could be heard slurping from his water bowl. Giles opened his mouth to ask Megan how she was finding her study of Gleick's rather dull manual on medieval weaponry, when he felt a familiar prickle. Ethan's slightly abstracted expression provided the only other clue; he was using magic.

Giles opened up his magic sense to try and figure out exactly what Ethan was doing. He seemed to be using magic on himself, on his skin maybe. Ah, no, his clothing. Giles chuckled softly as he realised what Ethan was up to.

"Not happy with the colour?" he asked drily as he nodded at the shirt that Ethan was tampering with.

Ethan's eyes focused again. "Just playing," he admitted with a grin. Tipping his head back, he called, "Giddy!" and the young dog trotted out of the kitchen carrying his favourite chew toy.

"Playing with what?" Megan asked, puzzled.

Ethan ran his hand over Gwydion's back a few times and then picked a single doghair from his palm. "With this," he answered Megan, putting the hair on the front of his shirt. It fell straight off. "And now Rupert is going to make grumbling noises about using magic for self-indulgent reasons."

"I will if that little alteration does the same thing to the hair that's still attached to my dog." Gwydion, who seemed to know that he was being talked about, went over to Giles and offered him the chew toy. "Thank you," Giles told him politely as he took the toy. Gwydion watched him with big eyes until Giles threw it for the dog to chase.

As the dog crashed about the living room, Ethan slid from the arm of the sofa onto the seat properly. "I'm bored," he announced, sounding for all the world like a teenager beset with ennui. "Can't we start the meeting early?"

"I could throw something for you to chase," Giles offered straight-faced.

Ethan gave him a twisted smirk in reply, and in his head, Giles heard, _'Think you can throw it all the way to the bedroom?'_

Giles looked at Ethan from under a raised eyebrow. _'You can't be wanting more already after this morning,'_ he thought back.

 _'Can't I?'_ Ethan's expression said very much that he could be. He pouted. "Oh, chuck us the Saturday supplement."

 _'You are positively insatiable,'_ Giles sent him affectionately as he leant over and found the paper to toss to Ethan.

Megan was watching them both suspiciously, perhaps guessing that she was missing half the conversation. As Ethan loudly opened the tabloid section of the Guardian, she asked, "Do you want me to take Giddy for a walk?"

"No!" Ethan said immediately and quite fiercely, moderating his tone to add, "Sorry. We were being rude. You stay right there."

"I'll take him later," Giles told her. Then, realising how that could be interpreted, quickly added, "Gwydion, I mean. For a walk."

Ethan sniggered and raised the paper, hiding behind it.

"Not on your own," Megan said, a little tentatively. "One of us should go with you."

Giles repressed a sigh; it seemed that Ethan had passed his over-protectiveness on to their Slayer. "I am perfectly capable of going for a walk on my own."

"Perfectly capable of dying on your own too," Ethan said from behind the paper. "We agreed that neither of us should go out alone, didn't we? Especially you with your dodgy leg."

"It's been a month now. I've been walking without a cane for over a week," Giles pointed out, trying to remain logical. "You're going to have to accept eventually that my leg is healed."

"I still see a limp," Ethan insisted, emerging from behind the paper and frowning at Giles. "Anyway, that's not the point, which is the small matter of how you got the bad leg in the first place."

After a month of having constant bodyguarding whenever he stepped outside the door, Giles was beginning to chafe a little under the lack of privacy and autonomy. "I think I can manage to look after myself walking around the block with Gwydion," he said in short, clipped words.

"No." One word, fiercely spoken. Ethan's expression was on the verge of upset.

Sometimes Ethan's mercurial emotions were... wearing. "Yes," Giles countered, feeling his own temper start to fray at the edges. "A short walk in the night air alone with my thoughts is not going to cause the universe to end."

Ethan threw the paper down on the table, making Megan jump. He stood up. "Any bit of it that rotates around me will end soon enough when you get yourself killed. Just can't wait to leave me again, can you?" He headed for the stairs.

Megan looked worriedly between the two of them. "Uh...?"

Giles let out a breath, trying to get his exasperation under control. "I had to fall in love with a drama queen," he muttered to himself. As Ethan disappeared up the stairs, Giles turned back to Megan. "You might as well take Gwydion for that walk," he told her as he got to his feet and moved to follow his irritating lover. "I doubt I'm going to be free to do it myself any time soon."

"Okay," she agreed uncertainly. "I'll be back for the meeting. I, uh, hope everything's..." Her voice faded into nothing as she headed for the coat rack.

"It'll be all right," Giles paused to reassure her, although he couldn't come up with anything else to say in regards to this disagreement. That would have to do for now, he thought, as he headed up the stairs.

***

Ethan heard Rupert following him up the stairs, so instead of lying down on the bed and indulging in some satisfying if infantile pillow-hugging, he went to the bedroom window and stared out onto the street. His fingers played around the edges of the hole he had burnt in one curtain the morning that his magic had first come back to him. He didn't speak as he heard Rupert enter the room behind him.

Rupert stopped just inside the doorway. "A walk around the block is not leaving you."

It could be. It might as well be. Ethan didn't say either thing, just carried on staring through the glass. He heard the front door close beneath him and watched Megan and Gwydion set off on a walk.

He heard Rupert sigh, the sound holding a world of exasperation to it. "And for the record, let's remember I wasn't the last one to try to leave."

That hurt. Ethan whirled around. "You... you git! That wasn't... You..." He couldn't quite believe Rupert had just said that.

"It wasn't me," Rupert agreed, crossing his arms over his chest as he moved further into the room. His voice softened as he continued, "And it wasn't you either. I know that, but it still hurt as if it was."

"And so you want to pay me back for that? Is that it?" For all that Ethan registered the gentler tone, and however much he just wanted to be comforted, he couldn't seem to drop the issue. "You want me to feel how you felt. I see. Apparently twenty-five years without you wasn't enough for me to really experience your afternoon's pain."

He saw the anger flash across Rupert's face. "Do you really think I'd be so... petty?"

"You tell me. You're the one determined to get himself killed." Ethan took a deep breath, but it didn't help. "Go then. Get it over and done with." He turned back the window, desperately trying to swallow down embarrassing emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. "I'll be fine without you; I always was." That was probably the most preposterous lie he'd ever told.

"Bloody hell, Ethan! I'm just talking about a short walk! You're making a big deal out of–"

"Rupert, I saw you... _melt_. I felt it. Your body just unravelling like..." Again he swallowed his emotions down. "You're right. It's not a big deal at all. What can I have been thinking? Have a nice walk."

Rupert swore angrily half under his breath, but he crossed the room and pulled Ethan into his arms. "Like I could after that," he said, sounding resigned.

Ethan struggled half-heartedly, but then surrendered, letting Rupert turn and move him as he would. He avoided Rupert's eyes, however. "I know you need quiet times, dearheart. Really, I do. But can't you have them here? Megan and I can take the mutt out, maybe do some shopping, and you can have a few hours peace and quiet."

"It's more than just the need for privacy," Rupert said softly, his hands moving soothingly over Ethan's back. "That is a large part of it, but it's also the need to feel like I'm not in... prison. That I can come and go as I please. That I'm not a little child who can't be trusted out on his own."

Ethan felt hopeless. Rupert knew the situation, knew the dangers, but would still, it seemed, risk everything they had together rather than submit to some basic security measures. "Does that mean you're going to do it?" he asked bleakly. "Going to go out on your own?"

"Do we really want to give whoever or whatever it is that's out to get us the satisfaction of us living our lives and making our decisions in fear?"

"Does that mean 'yes'?"

"That means things can't continue as they are," Rupert said in a soft voice. He'd said those words to Ethan before more or less, who'd never forgotten them however hard he'd tried. Ethan felt something contract tightly inside him, and for a second or two, he couldn't breathe.

He tried to free himself from Rupert's arms, but failed. "Would you let go of me, please?"

"No." Rupert tightened his embrace around Ethan. "Because whatever you might fear, I'm not leaving. I'm not letting you go."

Ethan's struggles became more violent. "No, you're merely playing fast and loose with your own life regardless of my feelings in the matter. Let me go."

"Of course your feelings matter to me–"

Their eyes finally met. "Let. Me. Go." Ethan spat each word out, glaring at Rupert.

Rupert looked at him for a long moment, but then released him.

Pushing past Rupert, Ethan headed back downstairs again, intending to head to the study with several bottles of beer, but as he passed through the living room, someone knocked on the door. Brilliant. Perfect. Bloody Xander was always either stupidly early or ridiculously late.

Ethan slammed through into their little lobby intending to give the American a piece of his mind. He yanked the front door open... and stared down in complete horror at the sight before him.

Buffy Summers stared back at him.

There was another, taller girl there too, he dimly realised, but his attention was taken up with the Slayer. "Wrong house. Try down the road," he said, "in the next county." And he tried to slam the door in her face.

Her arm shot out and stopped the action; it was as if the door had just hit a brick wall. "We're here to see Giles. Are you going to get him, or do I have to go through you to do it myself?"

That was it. That was the line, and she'd just pushed him over it. "Make yourself at home," Ethan said, pushing past the odious Slayer and into the street. "Giles can be found dotted about the house, but most notably in the chest freezer. Do have a nice day. That is the correct American phrase, isn't it?"

He stormed off down the street.

On his own.

Without his coat.

***

Unwilling to let things lie as they were, Giles only gave Ethan a moment or two before he headed down the stairs after him. What he found in the living room wasn't Ethan, however, but two surprise visitors.

"Hi, Giles," Dawn said with a cheesy and rather uneasy grin.

Buffy's arms were folded and a fierce expression on her face, but the ice cracked a little when Giles looked at her, and she smiled, albeit a little tightly. "Surprise."

"Buffy." He finished coming down the stairs and crossed over to where the two young women were standing. "Dawn. What are you...?"

They continued to stare at him for a few moments longer, then Buffy lifted her arms tentatively, inviting a hug. "Uh, hi?"

That shook Giles out of his shock enough to step forward and hug her. "What are you doing here?"

"We thought you'd be a happy smiley Giles to see us?" Buffy offered, pulling back from the hug. The frown reappeared on her lips. "Instead, we got better acquainted with the door as it was slammed in our faces."

Dawn fidgeted nervously beside Giles, waiting impatiently perhaps for her own hug. "I'm going to Cambridge!" she announced.

"You are?" He pulled Dawn into a hug, even as his mind was wondering where Ethan had got to. "That's wonderful."

She hugged him a lot more enthusiastically than Buffy had. "I'm doing two term-y semester things on Phoenician and Mesopotamian iconographs among other languages. I'll be the youngest one there, but I'm not wigging. Much."

Dawn was training to be a Watcher through a new scheme Giles had introduced when he'd first accepted the Council headship. It meant that the majority of her training could take place without her having to leave home. Obviously, there were some exceptions, no matter how close to genius level the girl's ability was with languages.

"I can see we'll soon have a new expert to go to," Giles teased, surreptitiously looking around the room. Nope, no Ethan lurking in the corners, and he didn't think he was in the study either. "I know he must have let you in; did you see where Ethan went?"

Buffy folded her arms again. "He left. After telling us you were in pieces in the freezer."

"Left–" Giles looked around the room and saw Ethan's coat still hanging on the rack by the door. "Bugger," he muttered, alarmed, and headed for the door himself before he'd even consciously made the decision.

Remembering his guests, he turned back even as he was grabbing his coat and putting it on. "Look, make yourselves comfortable; Megan should be back soon, and Xander and my assistant, Pamela, should be coming by for a meeting. I'll be back as soon as I can. I just have to..." He trailed off, gesturing at the door.

"I thought he wasn't evil anymore." Buffy said, clearly ready to go after Ethan herself.

"He's not," Giles said, taking Ethan's coat from its spot as well. "Just exasperating." And a little too good at running away, he thought, but didn't say.

The look Buffy gave him as he rushed out of the door was more than suggestive that she found Giles to be exasperating too. He couldn't deal with that now though. He had to deal with his bloody lover first, and Ethan's bloody instinct to run whenever things got difficult.

Luckily, the same inner sense of Ethan's location that had led Giles to him last time was working this time as well. Giles let it guide his steps, only keeping conscious control enough to make sure he didn't run into anything or anyone as he walked.

He couldn't exactly go as the crow flies, but this area of London had such an interwoven network of streets that he could be more or less direct. There weren't too many dead ends, and as it turned out, Ethan hadn't actually got that far. As Giles realised when he watched the man scurry past the end of the narrow street he himself was walking down. Ethan was bent over, his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

Putting on a burst of speed, Giles quickly caught up, dropping Ethan's coat over his shoulders before Ethan had fully registered his presence. "I suppose I should be happy that you have at least some clothes on this time," Giles said.

The look Ethan gave him was one of abject misery. He stopped walking and pulled the coat around himself, but after that first bleak glance, he didn't seem able to meet Giles' eyes, and he said nothing.

"So where are we going?" Giles asked, keeping his tone conversational.

Ethan glanced up, just a quick flicker of his eyes before directing them down again. "Devon?" he suggested with a sad little laugh. He started to struggle into the arms of his coat. "I suppose I was heading for the pub."

Well, the pub sounded more like Ethan was planning on coming home than had turning into a fox on the Heath. "We have alcohol back at home," he offered softly.

"She's there," Ethan pointed out in his most bitter of tones.

"That doesn't change anything." Giles willed the words to be true.

Ethan moved out of the way of a passing couple and therefore much closer to Giles, but still not touching. He was fastening his coat. "Of course it does," he muttered.

"How?"

"She hates me. You love her."

"I love you." It was, Giles thought, what should be the overriding fact in this situation.

Ethan finally looked up properly, seeming to have to drag his gaze up to meet Giles'. "I..." he said, but got no further. His eyes seemed to hold a multitude of pleas however.

Giles reached out and brushed his fingers against Ethan's. "If I promise not to walk the dog alone, will you come home with me?"

For one awkward moment, Giles thought Ethan was going to burst into tears on the street, but then he smiled, albeit a little raggedly, and said, "For that I'd even brave a full Scoobies meeting."

Needing more contact, Giles tugged gently on Ethan's hand, pulling him to him, and Ethan seemed to take that as permission or instruction as he immediately wrapped his arms around Giles and hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled beside Giles' ear.

Giles sighed as he wrapped his arms around Ethan in return. "So am I. It was... Well, it wasn't anything worth driving you away."

"I would have come back, probably a trifle drunk and insulting, but I wouldn't have stayed gone. I wasn't intending to go at all, it's just she was there and..." Ethan whimpered slightly. "I think I might need some, shall we say, meditation time before I can possibly be in the same room as her without upsetting you."

"Buffy being here doesn't change anything between us; you do know that, right?"

Ethan, rather ominously, didn't answer and just nuzzled needily against Giles.

People were giving them a variety of looks as they passed. It was true that the two of them were taking up a lot of the pavement. Giles moved off to the side, pulling Ethan with him. "What do you think is going to change?"

Ethan avoided the question. "Did you know she was coming?"

"No, of course not." He ran fingers through Ethan's hair idly as he frowned. "Do you really think I'd keep something like that from you? Do you think I could?"

Again his questions were ignored. "How long is she staying?"

"I didn't get that far. Had to come chasing after you. Are you planning on actually answering any of my questions, or should I just save my breath?"

Ethan looked up at him, frowning as he was pushed closer still to Giles by a rude passer-by. Giles felt the familiar prickle of Ethan's magic, and then people seemed to start giving them a wider berth, and also the curious or annoyed stares they'd been garnering ceased to be directed their way.

"That's better," Ethan said, kissing the side of Giles' jaw. "And no, if I think about it rationally, I don't think you'd keep from me a prospective visit from your pseudo-daughter who would dearly love to slay me."

"Buffy's not going to slay you," Giles told him with as much patience as he could muster.

"She'd like to," Ethan insisted. "She'd just love to stab that hard phallic object she's so fond of straight into my chest."

"Only if you were a vampire. And even then, she wouldn't have much room to say or do anything, considering her own dating history." He kissed Ethan, trying to soothe this lather he was working himself into. "Besides, do you really think I'd let her touch you?"

"She will never accept me, and that will upset you. This isn't like Xander." Ethan ran his hands nervously over Giles, who could barely feel the touch through his thick coat.

"She's going to have to. You're non-negotiable." He frowned and tried to meet Ethan's eyes. "Is that what you're afraid of, that she'll somehow be able to change my mind?"

Ethan stared fixedly at an area just below Giles' left shoulder. "You will see me, see us, through her eyes and be ashamed."

"Ethan." He waited until Ethan reluctantly looked up and then leant in and kissed him slowly and thoroughly. "With everything we've been through to get to where we are, do you really think I'd let anyone make me ashamed of what we have?"

Ethan shook his head slowly. "My rational mind doesn't."

"But in your heart you still don't believe." It was frustrating; Giles didn't know what else he could do to make Ethan feel secure of his continued presence.

"I believe we're meant to be together. I've always believed that, but that didn't stop you..." Ethan sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to dredge up old grudges. Really. It's just sometimes I..." He bit his lip and looked beseechingly and somewhat exasperatedly at Giles.

"You think I'm going to leave?" Giles asked softly.

Ethan flinched at the words, but didn't deny them, not completely. "I know we're bound. I know you can't comfortably leave, and I know you love me." He bent his head and raised his own hand to his mouth. Giles realised Ethan was sucking at his 'wedding' ring. "That I know with all of me."

Giles gently pulled Ethan's hand away from his mouth, bringing it up to his own to drop a soft kiss on the ring before moving to kiss Ethan's lips as lingeringly as he could. "I do love you. You're... there isn't a word to describe what you are to me. I can't leave. I don't want to. I don't ever want to." Then talking more softly, he said, "Although knowing that you think I'm going to helps explains why you keep trying to."

Ethan frowned and opened his mouth to defend himself, or so it first appeared, but after hesitating, all he said in the end was, "I'm a coward, always have been." He sounded defeated.

"You're not," Giles countered.

"Yes, I am. I'm just not afraid of very much. But when something does scare me, I... Well, the instinct does seem to be to run. Part of that 'survivor' trait you've expressed admiration for in the past, I imagine."

"You don't want to be hurt or rejected again," Giles said, speaking his thoughts as he tried to work through the tangle of emotions they were both feeling.

"Well, that's certainly an understated way of putting it, in much the same way as me saying 'I fancy you a little bit' would be." Ethan chuckled darkly.

"Is there anything I can do to help ease those fears?" He brushed the back of a hand against Ethan's cheek. "To help you stop wanting to run?"

Never one to miss an opportunity, Ethan managed a weak grin and said, "Taking your own safety seriously would help."

"I do need some time alone, much as I love you, but," Giles said before Ethan could protest, "I'm willing to work something out if you are."

Ethan met his eyes and with simple honesty said, "I would agree to pretty much anything to keep you safe and with me."

"Then stop running?" The plea was out before Giles could think about it. "When I say I need some alone time that's not the way I want to get it."

After nodding, Ethan kissed him softly before replying. "I promise not to run from you again while I remain in control of my own actions."

It was the best that Giles could hope for, and the phrasing actually made him more able to take Ethan at his word this time. "We can work all the rest out then."


	3. Chapter 3

Ethan hesitated outside their front door, thinking about what, or more importantly who, they were going to find inside. He gave Rupert an unhappy look. "This is not likely to go well."

Rupert leant over and kissed him, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "However it goes, I'll still love you, and no one's leaving."

"Well, I'm all for a spot of 'yanks go home', you know." Ethan knew he was pushing it, and considering how generous Rupert was being in his response to all this, that was, well, not commendable. He gave a twisted smile in apology and turned to open the door, wondering how he was ever going to find a civil word for the Slayer he'd left standing on the pavement earlier.

As they stepped inside the living room, Rupert still had hold of his hand and didn't seem in any particular rush to let go, even when they became the focal point of three pairs of eyes.

Well, four, if you included the dog.

Megan came over immediately and hugged Ethan. While she could have just been worried by the row he and Giles had had partially in front of her, there seemed to be a protectiveness about her action, and Ethan suspected he knew why. He hugged her back tightly with one arm; he'd no intention of letting go of Rupert's hand until he had to.

"How was your walk?" he asked her, pretty much ignoring the other two girls. "Did Giddy behave himself?"

"It was fine. He, uh... I was kind of worried to find you both gone when I got back."

"Sorry, Meglet," he murmured quietly by her ear before releasing her from the hug. He finally looked over at Buffy Summers, and ah yes, the not so little sister, Dawn. In different circumstances, he'd be quite excited to meet the Key, but not now with them both glaring at him as if he'd single-handedly put an end to Christmas and ice cream.

"I see you've all met," Rupert said, letting go of Ethan's hand only long enough for both of them to take off their coats and hang them up.

"Yeah," Megan replied shortly.

Ethan watched as Dawn's gaze moved between her sister and the rest of the room; she was clearly uncertain what to do or say. Buffy wasn't much help for the girl as the Slayer was little more than folded arms and stern stare. Ethan really had no idea what Rupert saw in the petulant child to bring out all those obvious paternal feelings.

Knowing it would please Rupert, and not really caring how it would be received otherwise, Ethan smiled at Dawn and in the general direction of where Buffy was standing. "I do apologise for the rudeness of my initial welcome. May I offer either of you food or drink?"

"We're fine, thanks," Buffy said shortly, still standing with arms folded over her chest as she looked at him. Her gaze shifted to Rupert, and Ethan saw her expression soften just a little bit. "You okay?"

"Of course." Rupert lifted an eyebrow at his former Slayer. "Is there some reason I shouldn't be?"

"Actually, I'd kinda like a soda," Dawn said with a cringing smile at Ethan. "If you have one. Do you have one? I could, like, go to the store for you?"

"Coke, Mountain Dew or Lilt?" Ethan asked, still doing his best to play mine host belatedly and ignoring Buffy's insinuation that he would harm Rupert. "We keep it in for Megan."

"What's Lilt?" Dawn asked.

Megan stepped in, clearly allowing herself to be friendly to the visitor that was prepared to talk to Ethan. Rightly or wrongly, his admiration for his Slayer deepened even further with this show of loyalty. She explained to Dawn, "Lilt's a fruit soda with grapefruit and pineapple. It's really nice. I'm hooked on it."

"Oh, can I... do you mind if I try some?"

Smiling warmly now, Megan said, "Sure. I'll get us both a glass." She looked over at Buffy, her smile dropping. "You still not thirsty?"

"I'm fine," Buffy repeated, although a bit more of her aggression fell away. She moved to sit on the couch by her sister.

Hardly able to believe he was doing it, Ethan released Rupert's hand and nudged him. "Go talk. I'll put the kettle on." Rupert gave Ethan a long searching look, making sure that he was all right before nodding and heading over to the sofa.

Not wanting to see any of the re-bonding that was inevitably about to take place, Ethan headed into the kitchen. Megan was pouring out two glasses of Lilt from a litre bottle. He rested his hand briefly on her back as he headed for the kettle. "I'm really sorry."

Megan smiled at him. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. Well, aside from taking off without someone to watch your back. What you tell Giles about doing that holds for you too, you know."

"Yes, I know. It won't happen again." He smiled at her. "How long do you think we can hide out here?"

"I dunno. You think if we're quiet, we could manage it until the others show up for the meeting?"

Ethan looked sourly at the glasses in her hands. "I suspect Dawn will come looking for the promised totally tropical taste."

Megan considered. "I could live with that. She doesn't seem that bad." She put the glasses down again on the counter.

Nodding, Ethan turned to get a couple of mugs off the tree. "Call her in if you like on the pretext of tasting the drink. That'll give Rupert some father/daughter time." He truly couldn't help the bitterness in his tone.

"Does that make you her stepfather?" Megan asked, "and Kat and me the kids from the second relationship?"

He glanced at her and chuckled nervously. "I wouldn't say that near her. She really hates me, Meglet."

"Why?"

He grimaced. "Erm, can I refuse to answer that on the grounds it may totally incriminate me?" Megan just looked at him in a rather uncanny imitation of the look Rupert usually gave to get him to talk, and he cringed.

Turning away from her, he mumbled, "Megan, I... I really don't want you to know. I'd never..." He glanced quickly back at her. "I'd never do anything like that to you."

She stepped closer and reached out to lay a hand on his arm. "I trust you, Ethan, you know that, right?"

"You might not, if you knew. Without Rupert, I..." He swallowed. This really was an acutely painful conversation. "I'm only a good man for him, you know. Well, for you and Kat too now. But without you three, I'd be back to not caring about the world again." He finally turned back to face her. "I'm like the Beast in la Belle et le Bete in a funny kind of way. Because you three see me as... someone lovable, I can be it."

"We see you as lovable because that's what you've always been to us," Megan countered. "We've seen what you've put yourself through to make yourself better. How can we not trust you?"

Ethan wished he had the faith in himself that Megan clearly had in him, but the fact that she did made him feel better about who and what he was, all the same. He gave her a brief but heartfelt hug, before turning away again to confess.

"I enchanted her in such a way to make her helpless to protect Sunnydale and indeed herself. Later, I captured and bound her and tattooed her with a mark that would summon a murderous demon to her. And I made a general nuisance of myself in her territory because Rupert was there, and I couldn't ever stay away too long."

"Was this during the same time that you turned Giles into a demon?"

"That event was the end of my trouble-making in Sunnydale, yes."

"Xander was there during all of this too, wasn't he?"

Ethan nodded, his lips twisted. "You may have noticed he was none too fond of me either to start with."

"But you get along fine with him now," Megan pointed out. "All he needed to do was get to know you."

He knew what she was saying, but... "It's different with Xander. He doesn't see Rupert as his father to start with... Or rather, he probably does, but he doesn't have the same father issues that B... that she does. And anyway, I never hurt him the way I did her." He was burbling somewhat as he didn't know exactly why it was different with Buffy, just that it was.

Megan cocked her head to the side as she studied him. "Have you ever apologised to her?"

"Good God, no!" He stared at Megan, quite horrified.

"But you are sorry about what you did?"

And there was the crux of the matter. He half-grinned, half-cringed at her, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one. "I, um, regret many of my actions from during that time." She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he sighed and rubbed his temple. "She's a bitch, Meglet. I... I don't like her very much," he finished lamely.

"So you're not sorry."

"Not so much." He tried what he hoped was an engaging grin.

Megan nodded knowingly. "So it's not so much that she hates you as it is that you hate her."

He gave her a mock scowl. "I thought I was meant to be the annoyingly perceptive one in this little family of ours?" She was right though; he had to admit it. Completely and depressingly correct.

"I don't need to be a Watcher to see things," she told him, leaning back against the counter. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Avoid any and all contact with her?" he offered brightly. Megan looked meaningfully at the door to the living room, and he groaned. "She is – or at the very least, represents – what Rupert chose over me, sweetheart. I'm not big enough or nice enough to forget that."

"Last I checked, Giles was living with you, not Buffy."

"Only because his little girl grew up and didn't need him anymore." He regretted saying it immediately.

Megan was quiet for a minute then asked, "So if I'd been called, and Giles became my Watcher before you two got back together, you'd hate me now too?"

The truth in that hurt. Really rather a lot. He turned away from her and started to spoon tea into the pot. "Xander will be here soon," he said brightly after a few moments. "Maybe he's bringing letters or news from Kat."

"And you'd hate her too."

He banged the spoon down on the counter. Enough was enough. "Megan, you're pushing. Stop it."

There was no hint of Megan's usual reticence when she shot back, "Wouldn't you call me on it if I was hating someone just for the crime of existing?"

He was two steps towards the kitchen door with every intention of walking out on the lot of them when he remembered his promise to Rupert. Freezing in place, he stared at the floor. "I can't do this."

He heard Megan move closer and then felt her wrap her arms around him. "You can."

He supposed some might find it humiliating for an... older man to be comforted by a mere child, but Ethan was simply grateful for the hug. She still cared. With the way she'd been talking, he hadn't been sure she still liked him, let alone was still on his side. He rubbed his hands over hers where they rested on him. "It's been a pig of a day so far."

"Yeah." She hesitated, then added, "You do know all of this doesn't change how any of us feel about you, right?"

He gave a sort of half-chuckle. "This is sounding very much like a conversation I had with Rupert earlier. I know. I really do know. It's just sometimes it's hard to feel it. And frankly, sweetheart," he continued quickly, before she had a chance to say anything. "That is more than enough intervention for this old curmudgeon for one day."

"Promise me you'll think about it at least?"

"I doubt I'll be able to help doing that."

"Good." She gave him an impish grin and backed off.

Ethan turned to pour the boiled water into the pot. His hand shook as he lifted the kettle. He felt... fractured. Keeping the promise not to run might yet prove to be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

***

Giles crossed the room and sat on the couch in the spot left beside Buffy, although he couldn't quite keep his eyes from following Ethan's path into the kitchen. The tension between Buffy and Ethan had been so thick as to be almost smothering, and Giles had very little hope that that would change in the future.

Dawn had moved to the floor now where she was playing with Gwydion, her back to Giles and Buffy, perhaps giving them some space.

Buffy drew her limbs in close to her as Giles sat down, but then seemed to make a conscious effort to relax her posture. "So," she started positively with a somewhat forced grin, but then seemed to leave completing the sentence to him.

"So," he repeated, casting around for something to say. "Did you have a good flight?"

"We slept most of the way. Gotta say, I'm so not impressed that Dawn has, like, no jetlag at all, but my Slayer constitution thinks it's just fine for me to take the whole whammy..." She grimaced. "Do you want us to go?"

"No," Giles said quickly. He smiled at her, the expression far less forced than before. "Of course not. You're always welcome here; you know that."

Her eyes flickered towards the kitchen. "He tried to shut the door in our faces, Giles."

He sighed and tried to explain the complicated tangle of emotions and neuroses that was Ethan. "That's because you terrify him," he said, deciding to go for the simplest explanation at the moment.

She crinkled her nose. "He really thinks I'd slay your... your..." Her eyes widened as she floundered for a word.

"Lover," Giles supplied helpfully.

"Uh, yeah, that thing." Buffy fidgeted very obviously and wouldn't meet his eye. "Giles, I don't kill human people even when they're not... that thing. You know that."

"I do," Giles agreed, suppressing the urge to make Buffy actually say the word 'lover'. "So does Ethan. That isn't what scares him."

"So what does?" Buffy asked, clearly mystified. Dawn wiggled around on the floor to watch them, perhaps interested in the answer too.

"My past without him."

"Oh." That was absorbed for a while, then Buffy schooled her face into an obvious attempt at sympathetic. "Does he think I'm going to take you away from him?"

There was something in Buffy's voice that made Giles suspicious about her reason for asking. "There's nothing that can do that, not the way our lives are entwined now."

He watched her expression become more rigid. "What does that mean?"

"It means that if you're contemplating making Ethan's fears justified, you're going to be very disappointed."

A depressingly familiar closed off look appeared now on Buffy's face. "So it's none of my business. Got it."

"Frankly, no, it isn't. Not to the point that you get a vote. Ethan is non-negotiable. As long as that's understood," he added, softening his voice from the hard edge it had taken on, "if you have any questions...?"

"No. No questions," Buffy said hurriedly. "We were just stopping by on the way through anyway; we can't stay long." Dawn looked up again at that, frowning and opening her mouth apparently to argue. Buffy seemed to sense this and quickly carried on talking. "We just wanted to say 'hi' and, uh, ask about your leg. So... Hi! How's your leg?"

Doing his best to ignore the awkwardness that now seemed to hang between them, Giles answered the question. "It's much better." He patted the limb in question. "Almost completely healed. You missed the spectacle of my hobbling around with a cane by a little over a week."

"Xander said you were attacked by a Chaos mage. So they don't all specialise in sneaky twisted tricks, some of them straight out attack?"

Giles knew that was meant as an insult to Ethan, but he also knew Ethan would take it more in the way of a compliment. "Ethan and I seem to have become something of a target," he told her, ignoring the slight totally. "There's been subtle attempts as well as blatant."

"Why?" Buffy asked directly, going straight into her army-leading mode. "What's Ethan done to cause this?"

"Given up Chaos," Giles told her bluntly.

She didn't even blink at that so it obviously wasn't news to her. "And that's not something you can wear a nicotine patch for? The, uh, Chaos boss people send their lackeys after you?"

"After both of us, yes. Apparently there's something that Ethan and I together are destined to do that they'd rather wasn't done." He raised an eyebrow at her. "You, of anyone, should understand about having a unknown destiny thrust upon you."

She nodded seriously. "So wouldn't it be safer for both of you if you weren't together... doing things. Things that these Chaos people don't want done, I mean. Not other things that you might do. With him. Which you wouldn't be doing if you weren't together."

"Wouldn't it be easier if you had stopped being a Slayer?"

She gave him a cross look. "That's not the same."

Giles sighed and settled further back against the sofa's cushions. "We're still researching, but it's looking increasingly like it isn't as different as you'd like to believe."

"I'm here for a few days," she admitted a little grudgingly. "If you want help. I mean, I know you've got a new Slayer now, and you're all magicked up like Willow, but... well, maybe Dawn could help with research," she finished lamely.

"Any help at all will be greatly appreciated," Giles told her with a faint smile. "In fact, I've several people at me to not set foot out of this place without a bodyguard. If, when you're here, you wanted to act as such..."

Finally, he got the beaming smile he'd been waiting for, albeit a little hesitant. "You really need my help? I thought Megan..."

"Megan's been helping out as best she can, but I'm sure it's all a bit overwhelming for her at times."

Buffy was much more relaxed now. "We've been worried. I've been worried. It's kinda wiggy when your Watcher is in danger in a different country and... Well, I nearly flew over as soon as Xander called and told us what had happened. What's up with Xander anyway? He's being all... mysterious guy."

Knowing that the mysteriousness was probably due to Xander's budding relationship with Kat – he'd shown Giles and Ethan a lesser version of the intrigue when the conversation had turned that way - Giles was left with the choice of either playing ignorant of the facts, or relaying information about Xander's possible love life to Buffy and Dawn.

He had always tried to avoid thinking about any of the children's sex lives; that hadn't changed just because he now had a more active one himself. Still, he did his best to answer the question. "Well, I'm not sure... that is, Xander's..."

A knock at the front door rescued him from his stammering. Before Giles could draw himself up, the kitchen door opened, and he heard Ethan say, "I'll get it," in passing. Giles craned his head around to watch.

There was a rumble of voices from the lobby, then Xander hurried in. "You said next week!" he accused the Summers' sisters, thus revealing that someone at least had known of their plans to come to England if not when.

Dawn scrambled to her feet and threw herself into Xander's arms for a warm hug. Buffy also rose. As Giles stood in turn, he saw Pamela enter the room, and they nodded companionably at each other. Ethan, however, lurked in the lobby doorway; he looked small somehow, drawn into himself.

Concerned, Giles moved around the others to go to Ethan's side. "What's wrong, love?" he asked softly.

Ethan's eyes were full of emotion, but he just shook his head slightly. _'Not now,'_ Giles heard within his mind. Ethan placed his hand back into Giles'. "Megan's making the tea," he said out loud.

"Good." Giles squeezed Ethan's hand, before letting go to slide his arm around Ethan's waist and pull him close to his side instead.

Ethan leant heavily upon him for a few moments, almost melting against Giles, but then he straightened again with a quiet sigh. They looked around the room together.

Buffy, Dawn and Xander were in a huddle together on the sofa, Buffy's back turned to the two men, perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not. Pamela was in the chair she always sat in, which was technically Ethan's, but Ethan rarely used it, preferring to sit with or on Giles whenever possible. She was sorting out what looked like comprehensive notes.

As Megan emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks, Ethan asked, "Are we still having the meeting now that we have... guests?"

"Yes," Giles said, moving over to the chair that had become his during these kind of get-togethers, pulling Ethan with him. "It's not as if Buffy and Dawn haven't had any experience with these sort of things."

"Besides," Buffy piped up, "I'm going to need to know what's going on if I'm going to be acting as Giles' bodyguard while I'm here." She hesitated and glanced at Megan. "If I'm not stepping on any toes...?"

Giles felt Ethan freeze on the spot, no longer moving with him. Ethan exchanged glances with Megan, who sounded almost apologetic as she said to the other Slayer, "Help could be cool. It would give us all a lot more freedom."

Ethan stared fixedly at the floor.

Feeling the tension in Ethan's body, Giles decided they really needed at least a few minutes alone. "If you'll excuse us," he said to the others as he got Ethan in motion again. "Feel free to start without us. We'll be back in a bit."

A bevy of anxious gazes met this announcement, not the least from Ethan himself, although he allowed himself to be shepherded into the study without complaint. When the door was shut, however, he almost collapsed into Giles' arms.

Without speaking, Giles held him tightly, letting a bit of his magic flow through both of them. Ethan absorbed it, sponge-like, only releasing his own as he slowly started to relax. "Oh, I'm coping so very well with today," he muttered.

"You're still here," Giles pointed out, hoping he could convey just how much that meant to him.

Ethan pulled back just enough to look miserably into Giles' eyes. "Bodyguard?"

"That's what you wanted me to have, isn't it?"

Ethan's moribund expression would have been comical had Giles not known the emotions were real. "How long for?" Ethan asked. "Oh God, tell me she's not staying here. There's no room."

"No, she's not staying here," Giles told him. "I don't think either of you are quite ready for that yet."

"What's she been saying about me?"

"Actually, I think she's feeling a bit replaced in my life, and not because of you, or just because of you. I was her Watcher for almost a decade. Now I have other Slayers, but she doesn't have other Watchers."

"All little cuckoos have to leave the stolen nest eventually," Ethan said bitterly and immediately flinched, almost as if he was expecting to be hit.

Giles sighed wearily. Between Ethan's jealousy and Buffy's feeling replaced, he was in for a rough time. "She's still my Slayer, Ethan," he said softly. "She always will be. You've called her my daughter in all but name. That's as close a label for how I feel as probably exists."

Ethan pulled back, wrapped his arms around himself and nodded. "Megan said I'm the wicked stepmother to Buffy's fairy tale princess... Well, not in so many words, but that's roughly where she was going with it. Can I feed Buffy a poisoned apple, Rupert?"

It scared Giles that he wasn't completely sure that Ethan was speaking purely metaphorically. "What would you say if someone asked you that about Megan?"

"Oh, don't you start!" Ethan was clearly angered by the question. "I'll just go and kill her now, shall I? Get it over and done with. The rest of them too?"

Giles pulled Ethan back into his embrace. "I feel about Buffy the way you feel about Megan, and it hurts when you say things like that, even in jest. So, please," he begged quietly, "don't."

Ethan struggled a little, went rigid for a few seconds, then slumped. "Sorry," he said, sounding deeply depressed. "I'm sorry. I can't... I, oh God..."

"I love you," Giles murmured, kissing Ethan's temple. "Buffy being here doesn't change that. Nothing can change that."

Ethan's eyes seemed desperately to be trying to communicate something his mouth could not. Finally, after several failed attempts to speak, Ethan managed to mouth. "I can't... go back."

"All right." It was obvious that Ethan was near the end of his rope, and Giles didn't expect to be able to calm him down anymore with the others still here. He leant in and kissed him gently. "I'll go ask the others to leave."

"No."

"No?"

"Well, yes," Ethan gave him a very weak smile. "That would probably be a good idea unless you are fine with me skulking away in here or upstairs, but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, love?" Giles asked, brushing a hand lightly over Ethan's cheek.

Ethan swallowed hard, but didn't lower his eyes. "I can't go back to how it was. When you were hers. When I... When I... was less than no one to you." That seemed to take all Ethan's willpower to say, and he wrapped his arms tightly around Giles and clung, burying his face against Giles' neck.

That shocked Giles so much it took a couple of seconds for him to respond, pulling Ethan even tighter to his body and stroking his hair gently. "Ethan, you're my soul. There's no force in this or any other world that can make me give you up." He brushed a finger over the ring he'd given his lover. "We're bound, you and I, through love, magic and destiny. Nothing's going to change that."

Ethan shuddered against Giles, his hands pawing at him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice heavy and his words staggered. "I know I'm being awful. I don't seem to be able to stop it. I'm just so very scared of losing this, you, what we have together. My whole life. Nothing. Just you. Just this. Can't go back to nothing again. Just can't."

"This isn't going anywhere," Giles told him, doing his best to soothe Ethan. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you, and I'll keep telling you that as many times as you need to hear it."

"I think," Ethan said, taking deep breaths in an obvious attempt to master himself. "I may be needing to hear it rather a lot over the next few days." He gave Giles an uncertain smile. "Just a hunch."

"I'll make a tape," Giles suggested and then leant in and nuzzled Ethan's face, kissing at the deep frown lines on his brow.

Ethan shut his eyes at the touch. His breathing was still catching occasionally, but he was calming down, at least a little. "Rupert. If you wouldn't mind going in there and distracting them all with some unexpected callisthenics or something while I slip upstairs, then you should still have the meeting. It's important. I'm just not up to... Yes, well. But after the meeting's over, may I claim you for a couple of hours? No Slayers, no dogs, just us?"

"How about I give them the prophecy and our notes and leave them with the books while I come upstairs with you?" Giles countered, knowing he was not going to be much help with the research just right then anyway.

The look Ethan gave him was sheer gratitude. "Oh. Yes, please."


	4. Chapter 4

Ethan groaned a little as he woke up, rolling over from the edge of the bed where he inexplicably found himself and draping himself much more comfortably over Rupert. He had a headache, and the day hadn't even started.

Murmuring sleepily, Rupert moved to accommodate him, one arm going around him. Ethan groaned again and more pointedly, hoping for some sympathy. He got another sleepy murmur and an equally sleepy kiss to his forehead, but Rupert remained mostly asleep.

Sighing, Ethan sat up. He was probably dehydrated and was definitely experiencing a form of hangover from yesterday's emotional excesses. He cringed at the thought of his behaviour. Buffy arriving had knocked his equanimity flying. A cup of tea and a Neurofen or two were called for, and if he couldn't persuade Rupert to fetch them, he'd do it himself, although he hadn't quite given up on the first just yet.

"Ethan?" Voice rough with sleep, Rupert blinked up at him. "Something wrong?"

"Headache," he replied in a thick voice that wasn't at all put on.

Rupert sat up, pressing up against Ethan's back, gentle hands coming up to rub at Ethan's temples, sending out small tingles of magic that felt as sleepy as Rupert did. It felt good though, better than ibuprofen anyday.

Ethan leant back against Rupert and moaned gratefully. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Rupert dropped a kiss on Ethan's shoulder. "Come lie back down. We've a couple of hours yet before we have to start scrambling around."

"Just don't stop doing that," Ethan said, doing as he was told. Tea could wait; this was better. He snuggled close again, kissing Rupert with slightly cracked lips.

Rupert's tongue darted out and licked gently at Ethan's lips, even as he got them both settled down in the blankets again.

After chasing Rupert's tongue with his own for a few moments, Ethan pulled back enough to focus and smile wearily. "I suppose yesterday wasn't all a bad dream?"

"Buffy's still here in London," Rupert confirmed, leaning in to kiss him again. "And I still love you."

He thought he managed to hide his automatic reaction to the B-word. "I am sorry about yesterday. I... I got caught by surprise."

"It was a bad time for her to show up." Rupert sighed, pulling Ethan closer. "I know we're inevitably going to have our disagreements, but I don't like it when we fight. Brings back too many bad memories."

That was all too true. "It rather knocks me for six as well," Ethan understated. "I wear your ring. I'm in your heart, and we're pretty much dependent on each other. Exactly when is this all going to filter through to my apparently mentally deficient insecurity?"

Rupert stroked his fingers against Ethan's cheek, his gaze on them instead of meeting Ethan's eyes. "Considering that everyone you've ever relied on before this, including me, has left, I'd say you've been showing remarkable courage in trusting as much as you do."

It felt good having that acknowledged. Ethan smiled gratefully. "I dreamt about my Nan," he admitted. "Weird, that. Unexpected."

Rupert's fingers slid upwards, through Ethan's hair. "Good dream?"

Ethan frowned a little as he thought about it. "Yes. Well, certainly not a nightmare anyway. It was... comforting but sad, I'd say."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I don't remember a lot really. Just that she was there, watching over me the way she always did before they took her away. I remember the feel of her hands on my face and feeling sad because even in the dream I knew she was long lost to me. That's it."

"I'm sorry you lost her," Rupert murmured, his fingers still stroking comfortingly through Ethan's hair.

He shrugged slightly. "It was over forty years ago, dearheart. I imagine she symbolises something to my subconscious, that's all."

Rupert leant in and kissed him. "I'm still sorry."

After savouring the kiss, Ethan thought for a while. "I often wonder where she went. I know an ambulance took her; I watched it from across the street, but no one ever told me where or why. I always presumed she'd died, once I was old enough to think it through anyway, but I don't know."

"We could find out if you want," Rupert offered. "With the Council's resources and connections it shouldn't be too hard to track down records."

Ethan rubbed his hand over his lips, very uncertain how he felt about the idea. He'd opened his mouth to ask Rupert to let him think about it for a while, when the phone began to ring.

Sighing and giving Ethan a rueful smile, Rupert rolled over enough to answer their upstairs extension. "Giles speaking."

Ethan sat up and started to arrange pillows for them both as he listened in.

"Hello, Lucy." Rupert paused, smiling at Ethan as he settled back against the pillows. "No, you didn't wake us." Another pause. "No, you didn't interrupt anything else either."

Ethan laughed and said, "Yet," loud enough to be heard as he snuggled back up to Rupert in their new positions.

"Was there something in particular you wanted?" Rupert asked Lucy, moving the phone so that Ethan could hear her end of the conversation as well.

Lucy's voice sounded a little tinny, listening to it like this, but Ethan appreciated being allowed to join in. "Well, to be frank, Rupert," she was saying, "I've been expecting you to call me for several days now."

"So you decided to call us at the crack of 'oh my God it's early' to find out why not?" Rupert was using his driest of tones.

"I've been up at least two hours already. I suppose you two slugabeds thought you were going to have a Sunday lie-in."

"I still think it, actually," Rupert told her pleasantly. Ethan chuckled and began to play his hand over Rupert's chest as he listened to Lucy's reply.

"Well, let's make this a quick chat then. I've been waiting for a report on the progress you've made with the exercises we set you."

"Yes, that's a rather interesting question," Rupert told her. "We've made very little progress with the exercises themselves, but we have with their goal."

There was a huffing noise on the other end of the line before Lucy asked, "Which means?"

Rupert smiled at Ethan, sliding a free hand along his arm. "We're a bit too connected to have much success at doing the exercises as assigned."

She sighed. "So you've been shirking? And no, Ethan, that wasn't a euphemism for anything." Ethan stuck his tongue out at the receiver and continued to amuse himself with Rupert's upper body, teasing a nipple by circling around it with the edge of his nail.

"It isn't so much that we've been shirking as that the exercises are proving to be irrelevant," Rupert told Lucy, giving Ethan a stern look.

Ethan decided that the look was clearly a request for more, so he took the hardened nub between his fingers and pinched just firmly enough to be felt.

"Rupert, the exercises are far from irrelevant," Lucy was saying. "I'm surprised at you taking these things so casually."

"I'm not," Rupert said, sounding just the smallest bit wounded at the accusation. "But the exercises aren't... We don't need them."

"Of course you need them."

Ethan sighed and stopped his far more pleasurable activities to place his mouth closer to the phone. "Lucy, sweetheart, we know your intentions are nothing but the very best, but with all kudos and respect due, you don't know what we need."

"I understand the whole train and practice regimen, Lucy," Rupert put in. "Lord knows I've been preaching it to a variety of Slayers over the years, but some things can't be trained. They're instinct. They're... like breathing. You just do them when you have to."

Ethan pulled back enough to look at Rupert. He felt... proud. He grinned hugely and didn't even bother to listen to Lucy's reply, which he could well imagine anyway, deciding that it was more important to reward Rupert for grasping the concept so thoroughly, which was, after all, quite alien for him. Moving down the bed, Ethan wriggled half over Rupert and began to lick the nipple he'd just been playing with.

Rupert gave him another look, equal parts exasperation and affection. "Some things are that simple," he said, answering whatever it was that Lucy had said to him.

Ethan let a touch of his magic travel through his tongue as he flicked at Rupert's nipple. In the meantime, his hand was moving down, circling Rupert's belly and teasing the edge of his pubic hair.

Ethan saw the reaction to the touches flash over Rupert's expression, but Rupert's voice remained steady. "We appreciate all the help you've given us, Lucy, really, but we've just reached a place where we have to branch out on our own."

Dissatisfied with the reaction he was getting, Ethan bit, just hard enough to hurt a little. In response, Rupert's free hand came down and yanked on Ethan's hair, pulling him away.

"Yes, Lucy, we're absolutely sure."

That hurt somewhat, but more importantly, it made Ethan hard. He lifted himself up on an elbow to protect his scalp, and with a very evil grin, reached his other hand, charged up with magic, further down to slide across Rupert's cock.

"We really do know what we're doing, I promise. The next time we come down, you can test us if you'd like." Rupert yanked on Ethan's hair again, then pushed him over until he was lying on his back. Ethan felt magic circling his wrists, tugging both his arms over his head, and holding them in place by invisible shackles. "Now if there's nothing else, I have a bit of a situation coming up here that I have to deal with."

Rupert was demonstrating exactly how well he'd learnt Ethan's lesson about spontaneity and instinct in magic, and Ethan couldn't have been more pleased, or indeed, aroused. It had been a while since they'd played a game like this, and he'd missed it. The magic shackles, which tingled and sent small shocks down his arms when he struggled, only added to the excitement.

"Bye, Lucy," he said happily, loud enough to be heard if she was still on the line.

Rupert listened for a moment longer and then let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Don't worry, I will," he said and pressed the button to hang up. Looking down at Ethan, he remarked, "You are incorrigible."

Ethan wriggled pleasurably, tugging at his invisible bonds. "You like me this way."

"I like you any way," Rupert pointed out. "That doesn't mean I want to encourage your bad behaviour."

Feeling as incorrigible as he'd been named, Ethan grinned. "What are you going to do to discourage me then?"

"What do you think I should do?" Rupert ran a hand trailing magic down Ethan's chest.

Gasping quietly, Ethan briefly shut his eyes. "Show me the error of my ways?"

Rupert straightened up, regarding Ethan thoughtfully. "I think," he said slowly, "I want to hear you beg. And," he smiled in a way that sent a shiver down Ethan's spine, "I want to hear you scream."

"That's nice," Ethan said, still smiling despite both his excitement and trepidation. "I'm sure I'll be able to oblige with the right incentive." He slowly pushed the covers the rest of the way off himself with a foot.

Rupert slid his hand over to tweak one of Ethan's nipples with magic. He pulled his hand away, but the magic remained behind.

Ethan inhaled sharply. "God." He struggled a little more sincerely in his bonds, needing a more physical touch where the magic tingled and stung. It was tugging somehow at his own magic. "I'm beginning to think you have learnt your lessons a little too well."

"I believe I've mentioned before that I've always been a quick study," Rupert replied in a conversational tone. His hand moved to Ethan's other nipple and repeated its action.

Ethan could, of course, reach out with his own power and tweak Rupert's arousal, doing to Rupert pretty much what Rupert was doing to him. Ethan could use his own magic to break the restraints around his wrists. He would do neither thing; the game was not played that way. He had no intention of using his own magic at all, unless of course he was told to.

Mind you, the way his power was responding to Rupert's touches might make that resolution a little hard to follow to the letter.

"This is much more convenient than having to fumble for actual physical implements." Rupert trailed his hand down over Ethan's stomach.

"Yes," Ethan agreed, trying and failing to relax into the constant sensations from his nipples. "Very handy." Rupert's fingers, still lightly charged with magic, trailed down Ethan's cock. "God..." Ethan moaned, pushing up to try to prolong the contact. "Ripper."

He got a smile for that, one that was very familiar from the old days. It gave Ethan a half-second of warning before Rupert's hand closed around the base of his cock, leaving a tight circle of magic behind when he let go again.

"Fuck!" Ethan didn't swear much and preferred a more humorous coarseness when he did, but there were times when only one word would do. His hips thrust uncontrollably up. "Take it off!" A magic cock ring was too much. It throbbed and pulled at his own magic and was basically set to drive him quickly crazy.

The smile was back or, more accurately, still there. "No," Rupert said.

Writhing and panting, Ethan stilled enough to meet Rupert's eyes and beg, "Please?"

"No," Rupert repeated, lightly tracing Ethan's features, his finger hovering over the skin so only his magic touched Ethan. "Not yet."

Ethan could tell by Rupert's expression that he meant it, and if Ethan persisted with his complaints and demands, the whole exciting game would be over. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down as much as he could with the constant tight thrum of magic around some of his most sensitive areas.

He felt Rupert's fingers trail magic all over his skin: up and down his arms, over his chest, down his legs. It was almost lazy, gentle, except for the touch of the magic accompanying it. It pulled his own magic out; he was helpless to stop it. He knew Rupert would be able to feel the answering tingle in his fingertips.

"Oh," he groaned. "Ripper. You're going to break me." He wasn't, of course, but appealing to Rupert's concern might shorten this torture. Not that Ethan truly wanted it to stop, but this was part of the game.

"Not break," Rupert countered. His hand stole up Ethan's inner thigh. "Bend a little perhaps."

That made him chuckle. "Fait accompli, dearheart."

"Oh, I've barely started, love." Rupert's hand had reached his balls, and cupped them gently, sending a slightly higher concentration of magic through them.

Clenching his jaw, Ethan tensed his muscles and tried not to cry out. "I meant, as I'm sure you realise," he said through his teeth, "that I was already... oh God... thoroughly bent."

"You know, that was one of the first things I noticed about you." Rupert's hand slid back, brushing over the perineum.

Ethan bent his knees up and opened his legs, giving Rupert better access. "Was it the glitter that gave me away?" he asked with a rather desperate laugh.

"The glitter was certainly a clue, but what clinched it was you sitting in that tosser's lap." A finger slid inside Ethan.

He grunted, and then as the finger sparkled with magic inside of him, he groaned deeply. "Are you sure," he staggered out, "that it wasn't... oh... the way I was looking at you?"

"That just made me think you were stalking me." Another finger was added. "Until later at least."

"I was stalking you," Ethan pointed out. "Ripper, please..."

Rupert smiled. "Is that begging I hear?"

As the answer was obvious, Ethan didn't bother to confirm or deny; he just continued, "Please. I need more. Really."

"What do you need more of? All you need to do is ask me. I'll give you anything you want."

"You." Just one word, but it was said emphatically. Rupert looked at him for a long moment, expression intense, then leant over and kissed Ethan breathless. He was panting when Rupert drew back. "More," he demanded, quickly adding a sincere, "please."

Shifting position, Rupert pushed Ethan's legs up and slid into him on a stream of magic.

Ethan's head tipped back between his raised arms, and he gasped. "Yes. Oh bloody hell, yes."

Rupert fucked him slow and steady, hard and deep. "God, do you have any idea what you look like right now?" he asked, voice low and rough with arousal.

"Like a spatchcock hen, I imagine," Ethan replied between appreciative moans. Rupert felt so damn good moving inside him, filling him up.

"Abandoned," Rupert told him, kissing him. "Beautiful. Wanton." Each word was accompanied by another hard thrust and followed a long lingering kiss.

Ethan stared up, his breath ragged, and added the single word "yours" to the list.

Rupert's eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment at that, but quickly opened again as if he were afraid of missing something. "Yes," he agreed, thrusting a little faster. "Mine."

When Rupert spoke the word, all the magic restraints on Ethan flared up, sending a sharp spike of power through his entire system. Ethan's body jolted in reaction, and he held his breath, but the sensation continued on at this more intense level.

"Breathe," Rupert murmured, leaning over to kiss him.

"I..." Ethan heaved for just enough air to speak, but no more. "I can't."

"Breathe," Rupert ordered in that tone of voice that always sent shivers down Ethan's spine, and he found himself dragging in breath after ragged breath, his clenched muscles also inadvertently relaxing. And without the rigid hold on his reactions, all Ethan's self-control, such as it was, vanished. He was lost to the sensations wracking his body, moaning incoherently and writhing. "That's it." Rupert fucked him harder, his voice becoming huskier as he moved. "Breathe. Feel. Feel me. Loving you."

Overwhelmed by the pressures growing inside him, Ethan wailed a word that might just about have been, "Please." He had lost control of his magic and could feel it joining with Rupert's, not just within and around his own body, but moving into Rupert's as well. He was desperate for release, but the tight band of magic around his cock, as well as Rupert's will, made an unpoppable cork. "Ripper... please."

"I want you to remember this," Rupert told him, slowing briefly. "When you start doubting, I want you to come back to this moment and remember me moving in you, claiming you, possessing you. You're mine. Nothing's going to change that."

Then Rupert was slamming into him, and Ethan simply couldn't think. His whole body was throbbing; it seemed swollen with an almost unbearable flood of sensation ready to damburst and probably obliterate Ethan's consciousness upon Rupert's word. He had heard the words; he even understood them, but he seemed to have no facility left with which to frame a reply.

And so it was really no surprise that the words which did make it out of his gasping mouth were ambiguous to say the least. "Need... more..."

"You always do," Rupert said, but fondly. His hand slid up until they were resting on Ethan's inner bicep. "And I always give you what you need." With that, Ethan was shocked to feel their combined magics burning into his arm. At the same time, Rupert released the cock ring.

Ethan had no idea what Rupert was doing to his arm, but it felt like branding, and oh God... Pain merged with acute physical and emotional pleasure, and he gave Rupert the scream he'd wanted as his cock, free at last and unattended, pulsed repeatedly between their sweat-damp bodies, spilling all he had to give.

The pain peaked and then trailed off, and Rupert froze above him as he came, buried deep within Ethan's body.

The pair lay together, shuddering and shell shocked, until there was an urgent knock on the bedroom door. It was more than possible that Ethan had been a little too loud. "Everything's fine, Megan," he called out hurriedly, before their Slayer could walk in on them.

Rupert chuckled breathlessly and released the rest of the magical restraints. "We may need to consider looking into soundproofing," he said as he rolled over to lie on his back beside Ethan.

They heard Megan walk away, but then an inevitable scrabbling began. "Don't let the monster in," Ethan complained, rubbing his wrists. "I want a little more just you time, if only to find out what wonderful thing you've done to my arm."

"I'm not sure I could get up and walk as far as the door right now anyway," Rupert said wryly.

Chuckling, Ethan lifted his arm and studied where it was still burning. There was nothing to be seen with normal vision, but his magic sense revealed what was indeed a brand. "Oh God." It was about one inch by two inches and a perfect golden glowing image of a badger.

Emotion filled him, despite his post-orgasm lassitude. "Rupert. Oh God." Rolling to his side, Ethan hugged his husband tightly. "I love you so bloody much."

Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan in return. "I hope it helps," he said softly.

Ethan didn't answer, couldn't really. When Rupert made gestures like this, it cut Ethan's feet from under him in the most wonderful possible way. He nuzzled softly into Rupert's neck.

The scrabbling at the door increased briefly, but then they heard a shout from Megan, and it stopped altogether. "That should buy us a few minutes," Rupert said wryly.

"Are you feeling smug, dearheart?" Ethan asked lazily, his voice muffled as he didn't move his head back from the crook of Rupert's neck. "If not, you should be."

"Perhaps just a little. It's been a while since I was able to make you scream."

Ethan chuckled as he pulled back a small way. His body was still tingling slightly, and there was a certain rather pleasant soreness, but... "I didn't mean that. I was referring to how well you've absorbed my words regarding the way our magic works together. Everything you did to me magically used our combined power, you know. I heard no Latin; that was all pure improvisation on your part."

Rupert seemed a bit startled at that, and Ethan could see by his expression that he was reviewing what he'd done. "I suppose I did. I wasn't really thinking about how I was doing what I was doing. I just... did it."

"Perfect." Ethan smirked. "Ten out of ten. A-plus." His fingers were tracing the new design on his arm as he spoke.

"With you, it's easy," Rupert told him. "Well, easier at least. You've always brought out my instincts, good and bad."

"A good pointer, that, had we but known."

"We weren't ready to see it. Not then."

Ethan turned to lie on his back and stretched his sore muscles. "Should I call Lucy back and tell her that by George, he's got it?"

Rupert smiled and traced a finger along the grin on Ethan's face. "It looks good on you," he admitted.

"You look good on me," Ethan corrected, and although he had meant the innuendo, he lifted his arm to show off his badger sigil again.

"It turned out rather well, if I do say so myself," Rupert said, moving to brush a hand over it.

"It's a ring I can't foolishly take off in a fit of pique," Ethan told him, becoming more serious. "I'm going to need that over the next few days, dearheart."

"I was hoping it would help." He met Ethan's gaze. "You've nothing to worry about; Buffy being here doesn't change anything between us."

Ethan still knew it would actually change things, at the very least while Buffy was here, but he also knew that Rupert really meant a deeper level of 'things' than that. Feeling how he currently did, Ethan had to admit that he was now more secure in the continuance of their perfect little idyll.

Dark Chaos permitting, of course.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a knock at the door of the small Council conference room, followed by Xander opening it and sticking his head through. "Research brigade reporting for duty!"

Ethan looked up from the head of the table. "You seem remarkably keen for research."

Dawn followed Xander inside the room and closed the door behind her. Ethan smiled gently at the girl, who he was doing his best to befriend, hoping it might help change her older sister's opinion of him.

"Blast from the past," Xander said, moving to sit down in the chair beside Ethan. He hefted the box he carried before putting it on the table. "We even brought the doughnuts."

"Oh, very nice," Ethan said, meaning it. He happily put down his pen and opened the box to choose one. "How are you today, Dawn?"

"This place is huge," she told him, her eyes wide. "It's like Buckingham Palace or something."

"Yeah, a step up from the Magic Box or the old school library," Xander agreed, grabbing a chocolate doughnut and taking a bite that put roughly half of it in his mouth at once. "Several steps up from a dining room table in a house full of teenage potentials," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"Tea and coffee on demand here too." Ethan grinned and bit into his remarkably sticky iced doughnut, enjoying it while the other two settled down. Then he wiped his hands carefully and handed each a print out of the prophecy and his notes so far. "Here you see my meagre progress."

"So we're looking for a bear," Xander said, speaking around the other half of his doughnut. "Did Giles tell you we were attacked by a bear once?"

"Er, no. Could it be relevant?"

"You haven't been involved in the extinction of any Native American tribes have you?"

Ethan stared at him. "Not and known it, no. Rupert was?"

Xander shook his head. "Nah. The vengeful Chumash spirit just decided to hold the battle in his living room."

Ethan found he was scratching his temple. He knew they should really be concentrating on the research, which through one thing or another was getting nowhere fast, despite close on a month since he'd first decided breaking open the cryptic prophecy was the key to success. It was very hard to resist stories that concerned Rupert's past without him, however. "Rupert was holding an open house evening, perhaps?"

"An Indian spirit was released during digging a foundation for a new building at UC Sunnydale. And I'd like to add it could've been released by anyone, just because it was me... Anyway, this spirit was a little cranky about his people being exterminated and was out for revenge. Yours truly, because I was the lucky working stiff who accidentally freed him, came down with a whole bunch of icky diseases, including syphilis."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and much, he thought, to his credit, managed not to giggle. Dawn, however, spluttered and then hid behind a page of notes. "I'm laughing at his face!" she exclaimed, pointing vaguely in the direction of Ethan.

"Charming." He attempted an urbane tone, but not giggling was becoming harder.

"Don't laugh," Xander told him with a stern look. "Buffy was determined to cook us all Thanksgiving dinner while fighting this thing, which made for some conversations that would've been surreal even if I hadn't been feverish. Eventually the spirit decided to go after the community's greatest warrior, Buffy, so there was this big battle in Giles' living room. Spirit turned into a bear, Buffy stabbed it with a mystical dagger, and poof! No more spirit. Or syphilis, I'm happy to say. Oh, and Spike was tied to a chair in the middle of the room during most of this. With arrows sticking out of him." He grinned. "This was what passed for a quiet Thanksgiving gathering in Sunnydale."

"Ah," Ethan nodded. "That quite puts my recent Thanksgiving adventure to shame, doesn't it?"

As a treat for Megan the week before, Ethan had locked himself into the kitchen and done his best to prepare a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner for his Slayer. Rupert had said Ethan's wages were going to be docked with the cost of the repairs, and Ethan still wasn't certain that he'd been joking.

"Told you that it could've been worse, didn't I?" Xander grinned again and reached for another doughnut.

"Yes, you did, whilst finding the spectacle of my panicked capers highly amusing, if I remember rightly. You are on my list." He gave Xander his best evil grin.

Dawn looked worried. While Ethan's attempts at bonding over the last twenty-four hours had been relatively successful, he had to assume her memories of him, for all that they were created artificially, were still mostly unpleasant. "You wouldn't really hurt Xander, would you?" she asked.

Xander snorted. "He's had his chance for that. Nah, he'll just try and make me dog-sit, which is evil in and of itself."

"Or perhaps just do some research." Ethan chuckled. "Come on, Xander. Us improper Watchers have to be able to crack book spines better than the professionals if we want to make it in these hallowed halls. You mentioned the bear, so we'll concentrate on that line today. Look up all that is both supernatural and ursine. If the right book isn't here, we can send for it."

"I've got lots of experience with the actual looking things up in the books, but not so much with figuring which book to look things up in." Xander gestured toward Dawn and Ethan both. "I will defer to the bookworms in the room for that."

Bookworm? Ethan allowed his lip to curl and put on an outrageous Spanish accent. "You insult me, signor. I will see you by the bridge at daybreak. Name your second."

Xander's mouth twitched. "Kat. If you kill me, she'll both pout at you and kick your ass."

"Oh, pouting. Now that's unfair," Ethan complained. He winked at Dawn, who was sharing her attention between the two men with a look half-amused and half-taken aback.

An intelligent girl, obviously, she seemed to decide that if this was the way things were, then she would be equally relaxed. Leaning back in her chair, she grinned cheekily. "I can see now why you guys've had this prophecy since October and done nothing with it."

"Hey, I've been in Devon for... days of that time," Xander protested, holding his hands up defensively.

Ethan had his excuses too, but he knew Dawn was right, and this procrastination was more serious than the child realised. Frowning, he passed a hefty volume to Xander. "There. Start with that. Make notes as we don't know at this stage what might be relevant."

Xander took the book and opened it with less enthusiasm than he'd been showing. "Yeah," he muttered. "Just like old times."

***

"Ashby de la Zouch? What kind of name is that for a place people live in? I mean, they do live there, right? What's a Zouch anyway and how can you be 'de la' it?" Buffy was amusing herself by reading the road atlas as Giles drove them north from London.

"Do you really want me to give you the history of the place and its name?" Giles asked dryly, glancing away from the road long enough to look at her.

But she had already turned the page. "Maidenhead? You have a city called Maidenhead?"

He kept the answer to that one very short. "Yes."

He could feel her staring at him. " _Maidenhead?_ "

"Yes."

She stopped starring and flicked over a few more pages. "So this place we're heading for, what's it called? Virgin in the Grinch?"

"Virgin in the-" Giles repeated then cut himself off with a shake of the head. "There are times I am extremely grateful not to be inside your head." There was a sudden stillness from Buffy, silence too. He risked another glance over at her. "Buffy?"

"You're in his head though, aren't you?" she said quietly.

And the topic had managed to twist its way around to Ethan once again. Giles guessed he should consider it progress that it had taken almost an hour for his lover to come up this time. "Does that bother you?" he asked carefully.

"It worries me," she replied frankly. "How can you be sure he's not trying to control you?"

He could argue about Ethan's trustworthiness, but Giles decided he would get further keeping this as much as possible about himself. "Do you really think I'm that weak-willed? Or weak-minded?"

"Hey!" Buffy complained. "This isn't about you. Ethan... does things to people's minds. Even kick-ass Watchers." Well, at least she was keeping the tone light.

"So your theory is that Ethan has somehow... mind-whammied me and Xander and the Devon coven and everybody else he's come in contact with?"

She turned to Giles, and when he glanced her way he saw her look was challenging. "Hello? Band candy? Living Halloween costumes? You can't tell me he's not capable of it."

"Then why hasn't he done it to you?" Giles asked, trying to use logic and not just get angry and defensive on Ethan's behalf.

"Maybe he is," she insisted, but without much heat. "Maybe it works slowly." Giles glanced over at her again, eyebrow raised in comment. "What?" she asked defensively.

"Don't you think you may be stretching it just a bit?" he asked mildly.

There was another mile or so's silence, followed by... "So during the next apocalypse, do I get to keep you busy while people try to kill Ethan?"

Giles swallowed his initial defensive reaction to the question. Considering the past, the question wasn't that out of line. He let out his breath in a long sigh before admitting, "I probably deserved that, but no."

Buffy seemed to accept that. "It's funny," she said, almost wistfully. "He knew, you know."

"Spike?" Giles asked, speaking the name between them for the first time since Sunnydale.

"Yup. He told me you and Ethan were, uh... some nasty British word that I can remember perfectly well but really don't wanna say to you."

He wasn't too surprised that Spike had figured it out; the vampire had always been astonishingly perceptive, no matter what front he had liked to project. "When was this?"

"The night before the end. No one could sleep that night. We kept each other company, just talking." Buffy was speaking calmly. She didn't sound upset as such, but there was an edge to her voice that Giles' ears, long accustomed to the nuances of his first Slayer, could pick up on. It was an edge that sounded to something fanciful inside him like the unshed tears he himself had carried since Buffy's death.

"You miss him," he said softly, not a question.

"He was around a long time," she replied matter-of-factly. "Of course, everyone's gone now. Even Dawn's leading a jet-setting international lifestyle."

Giles wondered if Buffy was feeling left behind, or if he was just projecting his own experiences onto her. "You could too, you know," he told her. "If you wanted to. You can do or be anything you want, Buffy."

"Yes," she said succinctly and looked out of the side window.

"Are you happy?" Giles asked, acutely feeling the distance that seemed to have grown up between them ever since Buffy had come back from the dead that last time. The fact that he actually had to ask the question proved that distance was still there.

Without looking around, she answered, "I'm not sure I even know what that is."

Giles nodded; that he could completely understand. Each trauma and loss and apocalypse left its mark. After a while it could become difficult to rise above what they left behind. He'd been there, felt like that; there had been a time when he thought that was what he'd be feeling for the rest of his life. Then he'd got Ethan back and rediscovered the joy in living.

He wanted that for Buffy as well. He just didn't know how to help her get it.

***

Ethan's head rested heavily in his hand as he stared glumly at the open book he was perusing. The trouble was, even presuming the reference to the 'bear' was more literal than simply something big and fierce, there were still far too many supernatural ursine threats in both myth and known magic history that it could apply to.

So as with a crossword clue he was hopelessly stuck on, he'd moved onto another line without telling the other two. But if there was a lot to read concerning bears, it turned out there was even more to research about mazes.

"Any one want refreshments?" he asked hopefully, standing up so no one could pre-empt him in his attempt to escape, if only for a few minutes.

Xander looked at the long since emptied box of doughnuts. "Yeah, we seem to be low on the snacking supplies." He rubbed his one eye and pushed the book in front of him away. "Could use a break from squinting at old texts with funny words too."

"Wouldn't mind a soda," Dawn said, looking up with a shy smile.

He smiled warmly back at her. "Right then. Soda you shall have. What tickles your fancy today, Xander?"

"Being out of this room for a little while," Xander promptly responded. He stood up. "I'll go with you."

The best laid plans of mice and ex-Chaos mages seemed doomed to go awry. "Will you be all right on your own, Dawn?" Ethan asked. "There are people just outside."

She nodded. "I'm kinda enjoying this actually. Don't tell Buffy, but I miss the research we used to have to do all the time."

"Don't let Giles hear you say that, or he'll be putting you to work now instead of after all that fancy schooling," Xander teased.

Dawn looked, to Ethan's eyes, as if she wouldn't mind that at all, but all she said was, "Can you get me some Cadbury's chocolate and a really freaky sandwich too, please?"

"What do you consider a freaky sandwich?" Xander asked. "I've seen what you eat."

"One of those really weird English ones with, like, coleslaw and peanut butter, or curried chicken and celery with mayo." She seemed very enthused by the idea.

Xander turned to Ethan. "Now you see why we never put her in charge of meals, even when we had a house full of potentials."

Ethan chuckled. "I promise we'll get you the 'freakiest' combination that we can persuade the sandwich bar man to create." Holding his arm out, he gestured to Xander to go before him, and they left the room.

"I wouldn't put it past her to have the prophecy all deciphered by the time we get back," Xander commented, looking back at the door as they started down the hall.

"Wouldn't complain," Ethan told him with a grin. "Research of the traditional kind has always made me... I don't know, long to run through streets and climb trees in the local park, perhaps. Studious is one thing I will never be."

"Yeah, me too, which makes it even more mindboggling that the room I probably spent the most time in back in highschool was the library. Way too often with my nose in a book too." Xander grinned. "Threatened my reputation as a slacker."

Ethan held open a fire door for Xander to pass through. "How did you become a 'scoobie' in the first place? And why are you called 'scoobies' anyhow? I've often wondered. Wouldn't that make Buffy a, uh, big stupid dog not unlike the one we stole for Rupert?"

Xander grinned. "She's never actually come to that conclusion, and I'd appreciate it if you never mentioned it to her. The name came from the fact that we were the pesky kids. Y'know, from the end of the episodes where the bad guy always said, 'And I would've got away with it too, if not for you pesky kids.' That's us."

Ethan's smile was wry but genuine as they started down the stairs. "And I suppose I was the that whining 'bad guy' more than once, not that 'getting away with it' was ever my aim in any of my reprehensible Sunnydale activities."

"So it was all a cry for help?" Xander asked, half-joking, but seemingly also genuinely curious.

"Oh no." Ethan pursed his lips. "Attention maybe, from that one particular person, but help I didn't need. Or at least, I didn't think I did." A thought occurred. "Xander?" he started.

"Yeah?"

Ethan paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Did any of my... games hurt you personally in a significant way? I cared not one jot about consequences back then, but in hindsight I perhaps do now."

Xander seemed to give it some thought before answering. "Not really. I mean, they could've, and if anything had happened to Will, or Buffy, or Giles, that would've hurt me too. The worst was when you changed Giles into a demon, and we didn't know what happened to him and thought he might be dead. And there was the guilt afterward that I didn't recognise him when he came to me for help."

Ethan nodded and looked down. It was pointless feeling guilty about old history... or maybe it was necessary; he wasn't sure. When he looked up at Xander again all he said was, "I have no excuse." He turned and pushed open the door.

Xander shrugged as he followed Ethan outside. "Some of what you did actually ended up helping. I still have some of that soldier knowledge I got from your little Halloween game; it's proven useful more than once."

"That's nice," Ethan replied blandly. He found he really didn't want to pursue the subject any longer.

He felt Xander's hand on his shoulder. "I don't hold the past against you."

It was good to know, but Ethan didn't feel like he could answer it without being facetious, even though he didn't really want to be. He stared down the wide avenue that the new Council offices were located in. "Shall we head to the Column and then up to Neal's Yard? There's a perfectly serviceable sandwich bar down by Charing Cross, of course, but Neal's Yard will take longer." He winked at Xander.

Xander grinned back. "Neal's Yard sounds like the place to go."

***

"Almost there," Giles said as they passed the sign welcoming them to Leighton Buzzard. They were the first words that either of them had spoken for the better part of an hour.

"So this is where she lives?" Buffy asked. "In a place called Leighton Buzzard? The poor thing! Not only has she had to live with Slayer powers with no help for seven months, but she's had to do it in Leighton Buzzard."

"Leighton Buzzard is a perfectly respectable town."

"Yeah, that's just what you said about Trollop's End."

Giles frowned. "I said about what?"

"Strumpet's Bottom?" Buffy suggested hopefully. Giles just gave her his best stern look, and she pouted. "You're no fun anymore. So, this girl, what do we know about her?"

"She's a Slayer."

"Right. Shut up, Buffy. None of your business. Got it." Buffy clearly didn't take Giles' attempt at good-natured revenge with the humour with which it had been meant. She went back to staring out the side window.

Giles sighed. "That wasn't what I meant." There was no reply, and they were approaching the town centre where he would need to concentrate if he weren't to get lost, but there was a car park coming up on the left. Giles signalled and turned in. He wasn't going to let this... distance grow any more if he could help it, and if that meant he had to be late for this appointment, then he'd be late.

"She lives in a parking lot?" Buffy asked, not sounding like she cared much. Her arms were folded.

"I think we should talk," Giles replied, turning to face Buffy.

She glanced uneasily at him. "This sounds horribly like one of _those_ talks."

"They're not my most favourite of things either, but don't you think we need one?"

"Depends," she said. "Are you still my Watcher?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Giles thought over all the ways he could answer it before finally settling on one. "You're still my Slayer," he said quietly.

Was it just his imagination, or did her lower lip tremble slightly in a way he remembered from days when she, at least, had been more carefree? Buffy looked at Giles, and when she spoke, she spoke slowly as if she were only just working it out for herself. "Ever since I became a Slayer, I've jonesed for a normal life. Now I've found one for myself, give or take a super-power or two."

Ah. Giles thought he was beginning to get an inkling of what might be bothering her. "And it's not what you expected?"

" _I'm_ not what I expected."

The good old identity crisis. That took him back, but he asked the question needed to get Buffy to articulate it, to herself as well as to him. "In what way?"

She did seem ready to talk. "I'm not normal. I'm never going to be normal. I'm... like someone acting a part. College girl. But I'm not really there. It's just a... a costume."

Buffy's words brought the last shared dream with Ethan to mind, the costume chest and the metaphor it had carried about searching for identity. "That's what college is for – trying on costumes and seeing which one fits best. You can have more than one costume, and you can wear them at different points in your life or combine them together into something new." He smiled faintly, remembering removing Ethan's mask in the dream. "Alterations are allowed."

"Giles, you don't get it." She looked at him beseechingly. "There's nothing underneath the costume. I'm just a... store mannequin. Just another Buffybot."

"You're far more than that, Buffy," Giles told her, "but it's understandable that you feel that way. For the last eight years, your life has been first and foremost about being the Slayer, and now that's changed."

"Yeah. Now I'm no one at all."

Giles shook his head, denying that. "Nonsense. You're Dawn's sister, and Xander's and Willow's friend, and my--" he hesitated but finally let the word out "--child. And you're still a Slayer; you're just not alone anymore."

She was fiddling with the clasp of her handbag, opening and closing it repeatedly. "I don't feel like I'm all those things. I mean, I know that there's a Buffy somewhere who's Dawn's sister and your... whatever, but that's not me. I'm not that Buffy. I just look like her."

"You are her. As long as you're breathing, or even if you're not." Giles managed to keep his voice from cracking at that phrase. "You'll always be those things."

"To you, maybe," she acknowledged and then grimaced, apparently at his expression. "Ever since the Master, I've been waiting to die again. I got all that stuff you thought I didn't about how Slayers died young. Giles, I _dreamed_ their deaths; I knew they were all just kids when they died. When I threw myself into Glory's vortex-y thing, it was a... a relief. Finally, I could get over and done with this thing I'd been dreading, like, forever. I could rest..."

Giles had suspected as much at the time, and certainly when the others had brought her back. He'd attempted shock therapy to help her then, throwing her in the deep end and forcing her to learn to swim alone. There had been some metaphorical near drowning, but in the end he'd thought she had started to live instead of wishing for death again.

"They brought me back, and I did everything I had to do, and I did it well." She glanced at Giles then, a little challengingly as if half-expecting him to disagree. "I wasn't really me, really Buffy. Sometimes I almost felt like the real Buffy, but she was dead, and the almost-me feelings were... were just a ghost of her. But... but I was still the Slayer, at least, and I had a job to do. The job was like my gas and, uh, road map and everything, but now I don't have the job, and I'm lost in the desert in a car that won't start and no clue where I'm supposed to be heading." The last jumbled metaphor had come out in an increasingly hurried rush.

Giles was quiet for a moment, but then offered, "You do realise that that is a completely normal emotion for someone your age, Slayer or not?"

She stared at him a little sullenly. "So why's Willow all big with the combo uber-witch and college student happy meal? Why's Xander more together than I've ever known him now that he's Watcher-boy?"

"And neither of them have had crises of identity that they had to work through, of course."

Her face closed in. "Fine. There's nothing unusual about my issues. I'm just like every other twenty-something. Can we go and get that poor girl now?"

"I'm not dismissing what you're feeling, Buffy," Giles said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested. "Far from it. I'm trying to tell you I understand, that almost anyone would understand, and that it gets better."

She didn't answer, just stared blankly out of the window ahead.

Giles reached over and touched her shoulder briefly. "We'll talk some more later, see if we can help you figure out how to get you out of the desert."

"Normally when I'm in the desert I get to see scary make-up girl."

"Can you settle for middle-aged Watcher-guy?"

Her lips twitched slightly. "They don't make spirit guides like they used to."

***

Ethan's spirits sunk as he shut the conference door behind him and looked at the table, where Xander was handing Dawn her banana, tuna and walnut baguette. His spirits had brightened considerably while out in the bustle of Central London, but back in the repressive library atmosphere, they plummeted far deeper than could be explained by the prospect of more research.

Dawn and Xander chatted happily, but he didn't listen. He sat back down at the head of the table and started reading about mazes again without saying a word.

"...right, Ethan?" Xander saying his name broke into Ethan's thoughts.

"Mmm?" he asked without looking up. He was very aware of the pulse in his temple for some reason.

"Dawn doesn't believe me when I say that we stole Gwydion for Giles."

The mention of his husband caused a small pang of pain deep inside Ethan. Now what on earth was that about? "We didn't steal the mutt; Giddy insisted he had to come home with us. Quite different."

"I must've missed that part of the conversation," Xander said with a smile. "Either that or I don't speak dog fluently enough."

"The dog was marked as Rupert's property," Ethan said distractedly. "Just like–" He stopped himself in time; they wouldn't understand.

Thankfully, Xander smoothly picked up a reply. "Lucky thing for Giddy that Francesca isn't a witch. Hate to think what she would've done to a puppy who had 'Property of Rupert Giles' tattooed on his aura or whatever."

"Does the dog's history relate somehow to our research here?" Ethan asked, frowning.

"Other than being one more weird thing that's happened lately?" Xander shrugged. "Not much. That we know of. Yet."

"Perhaps you could get on with the work at hand then?" he suggested a little peevishly. Xander's cheerful chatter was started to get on his nerves.

A frown passed over Xander's features. "We have been. We are. A little puppy talk isn't knocking us off schedule or anything."

"Don't argue," Ethan snapped back. "Just do it." As he heard his sharp words echo in the room, he dropped his forehead into his hand and massaged his temples hard.

Startled silence followed his words. Then he heard Xander say something too soft for him to make out. Chairs were pushed back, and there were footsteps over to the door, which opened and shut. "You okay?" Xander asked softly.

Ethan glanced over at him, noticing that Dawn had indeed gone. "Sorry," he muttered rather sheepishly.

Xander's worried expression didn't change. "So what was that about? Snapping orders isn't your usual style."

"I have a bit of a headache," Ethan admitted. He also had a growing suspicion he knew why he had a headache, why in fact he was feeling increasingly anxious.

"Came on really sudden, huh? Yeah, I know how that is; I've been getting those kind of lightning fast headache attacks ever since... y'know." He gestured at his eye patch, then dug into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small tin of pills, which he offered to Ethan.

He thought about asking what they were, but then decided he didn't care and helped himself to a couple of the small white tablets, swallowing them down with the coffee they'd bought. "Thanks," he said, pushing the tin back. "Perhaps we've done enough research for today."

"We can take a break anyway," Xander agreed.

Sighing heavily, Ethan folded his arms over his notes and let his head rest upon them. "He's gone too far," he muttered.

"Who?" Xander paused for a half-second. "Giles?"

Ethan nodded without raising his head. "We're... bonded. He's stretching the bond too far."

"But Giles would feel it too, right? And he'd stop and turn around?"

With an unhappy look at Xander, Ethan straightened. "Rupert is rather too good at ignoring his instincts and inner feelings. He... He's got a job to do, and he'll do it."

"Yeah, he can be pretty single-minded when he puts his mind to it, can't he?" Xander watched Ethan worriedly. "But he'd stop if he knew he was doing something that was hurting you."

Ethan could see where Xander's mind was going. Indeed he was himself very aware of his mobile in his jacket pocket with its quick-dial button straight to Rupert's, but... "I really don't think he'd appreciate another restriction on his freedom."

"He'd appreciate it even less if you keep this from him," Xander pointed out. "Besides, even if he's ignoring what he's feeling, doesn't mean he won't be feeling it too."

"You don't understand. He... we.... oh." It was very difficult to talk to Xander like this, about these things. Ethan resorted to clichés. "He's really been chafing at the bit recently. This could be the last straw." Nonetheless, he removed his phone from his pocket and stared at it.

Xander snorted. "I think where you're concerned, Giles has an endless supply of straws."

He wanted to argue, but had enough sense to realise that the doom and gloom he was feeling was almost certainly affecting his ability to judge such things. His level of anxiety was growing with every passing minute. Gritting his teeth, Ethan pressed the relevant two buttons on his mobile and held it to his ear.

It rang twice before it was answered, and Rupert's voice barked a very irritated, "Giles," into the phone.

Cringing at Rupert's tone, Ethan did his best to keep his own voice light. "Ah. Bad time?"

"Ethan." Immediately Rupert's tone softened. "No, not really. Just wrestling with traffic."

"Tell me you're on your way home. Please."

"What's wrong?"

Ethan hesitated before replying. "Don't you feel it?"

There was a brief silence, and Ethan could almost feel Rupert taking inner stock. "Damn. And I was blaming my irritation on... other things."

Ethan opened his mouth to make a snide comment about Buffy, but remembered Xander was still in the room. "Where are you?" he asked instead. It was more important, after all.

"On our way back," came the welcome reply. "If I can get us out of Leighton Buzzard. Bloody traffic."

"Oh Christ." Ethan almost wailed as he realised what time of day it was. "You're going to be hours."

"Well, there's not much I can do about it," Giles replied, irritated. "This isn't Chitty Chitty Bang Bang after all, or even Deirdre's mini." Ethan heard him take a deep breath and let it out, and he could picture Rupert deliberately calming himself. "Sorry. That's..."

"That's all right," Ethan tried to soothe him. "I know what you're feeling. Please don't let it affect your driving."

Giles' voice had lowered when he next spoke as if to keep others from overhearing. "I'd bloody well teleport back if I trusted Buffy to drive without getting lost. Or wrecking the car."

Ethan rubbed hard at his head with his free hand. "Um, did you find the girl's house without trouble?"

"Yes. But before you ask, she's not old enough to drive." Rupert sighed, the sound full of weariness. "Afraid I'm stuck with chauffeuring duties."

"She's with you then. I did think she would be. Her parents sounded positively relieved at the idea of her attending a boarding school. Do you have the headache, dearheart?"

"Yes, but I didn't connect it with..." He heard the humour in Rupert's voice. "This job regularly gives me headaches."

"Perhaps next time, I should come with you," Ethan suggested gently.

"We certainly will have to re-evaluate," Rupert agreed.

"Yes." Ethan found he was extremely unwilling to end the call. He cast about for a subject that they could discuss in front of witnesses. "What do you fancy for tea tonight? I was thinking a mixed grill could go down a treat."

Rupert chuckled. "We have become domesticated, haven't– Fuck!" Rupert didn't say anything else, although Ethan heard exclamations of alarm from the girls and other loud noises that did not sound at all good.

"Rupert? Rupert!" Suddenly fighting with rising fear, Ethan stood, his eyes not really focusing on anything in his immediate environment, although he was aware that Xander was coming closer. "God, talk to me!" In his mind, he screamed his husband's name.

The room he was in disappeared momentarily, and he saw instead the back of a lorry heading straight for him, for Rupert, and felt Rupert yanking on the wheel to swerve around it. That was all he got, but it was enough to send him reeling to his knees. He pressed the phone to his ear as if it were an oxygen mask to his mouth. "Rupert." The word was almost a whisper.

It seemed to take forever, but in reality was probably only a few seconds before Rupert responded, "It's all right. We're all right."

Ethan only then realised he'd been holding his breath as he gasped in air to speak. "What...?"

"Bloody lorry driver cut me off." Rupert sounded mostly irritated, but underneath that there was a hint of the shakiness that Ethan was feeling. "Almost ploughed right into the back of him. Fucking pillock, thinks he owns the road." The amount of swearing Rupert was doing – in front of Buffy and the new girl - was a hint about how disturbed he actually was.

"Are you stationary now?" Ethan demanded worriedly. "Are you still driving?"

"Pulled over to the side."

He began to release the tension from his body. Realising that Xander had a concerned arm around him, he let the lad help him to his feet. "Rupert, promise me you'll meditate before driving any further. Promise me."

"I'm fine, Ethan. Really." He was already sounding more like himself.

"Promise me!"

"This isn't a place we can sit very long, but," Rupert's voice softened, "I'll do what I can, love. I promise."

"Thank you." Realising how shaky he was, he sat down on his chair. "I saw, you know. Briefly, I was in the car with you. I saw the lorry."

"I thought I'd felt something, but," Rupert laughed a bit shakily, "I was a tad busy at the time."

"Christ. Please drive safely the rest of the way. I'll bugger off. Don't worry about me, just concentrate on safe driving." Ethan was calming down enough to pay a little more attention to his surroundings. He gave Xander what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"We'll be fine, I promise. This must have been the universe's way of paying me back about that comment about Buffy's driving."

In the background, Ethan heard Buffy asking, "What comment?"

Struck by an idea, Ethan asked, "May I speak to Buffy a moment?"

There was a pause, and then Buffy's supremely suspicious voice came on the line. "Hello?"

"Hello, Buffy," he said as calmly as possible. "Can we, for the sake of Rupert's, and indeed your safety, put aside our differences for the duration of this call?"

"Hey, you don't start anything, I won't start anything. What do you want?"

Stripping his voice of all tone beyond basic expression, he told her the facts. "Rupert is undergoing something he doesn't fully understand. Before you set off on your way again, he has to meditate a moment or two; it's essential. While he is driving, he shouldn't be distracted. If you have any across-the-counter painkillers, make him take some. Watch him carefully..." Ethan paused. "And don't tell him about what I'm asking you to do, as that will piss him off when he needs to remain calm. Just, um, pretend I'm asking you if he's really unhurt." He could only hope she'd have the sense to obey.

There was a long pause, and Ethan could imagine her wanting to ask all sorts of questions, but when she finally did speak it was only to say, "Yeah, he's fine. If showing off a potty mouth he's managed to keep mostly hidden up to now."

"Thank you, Buffy. I, um, owe you one." His fingers twitched as he said it; the words felt wrong somehow on his tongue.

"I'll keep an eye on him," she promised, sounding less confrontational than she ever had when addressing him before.

"Thank you," he repeated quietly. "I won't talk to him again; he needs to meditate. Safe journey." He ended the call.

Xander was looking at him, practically vibrating. "What happened?" he demanded.

"He nearly ploughed into the back of a lorry that cut him off," Ethan said glumly, rubbing his eyes and trying to calm down.

"Fuck." Xander sat back down beside him. "Everyone's okay though?"

Nodding, Ethan found his now cold coffee and swigged down a mouthful. Really alcohol would be more helpful than caffeine currently. "Buffy's going to watch him for me."

Xander laughed, the noise not sounding completely normal. "Guess that answers the question 'who watches the Watcher', huh."

Ethan looked at him. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you. The bond has strange and growing side effects."

"Yeah. Just can't get away from the strange, can we?"

"Xander, I..." Ethan sighed into his hands before letting them drop and standing up. "I'm going to sit in his office until he gets back."

"All right." Xander watched him with a worried eye. "Do you need... Giles has Buffy watching him. Do you need someone to watch you?"

He shook his head slightly. "No. I really need – what is it American parents say? Alone time?" He began to collect papers and books together.

Xander frowned, but then nodded. "If something's going to happen, like you fainting or something, you buzz Pamela or call me, okay?" He stood and moved to fall into step with Ethan. "And I'm going to make sure you get to Giles' office without running into Lorries or Richards or anything."

Ethan knew he was feeling distracted and muddle-headed, but still. "Richards? You presumably don't mean the boutique."

"Huh?"

"To which I can only say, a hearty 'me too'."

Xander shook his head as they started for the door. "This is disturbingly like having a conversation with me if I was someone else."

Ethan held the door open. "Well, it feels exactly like having a conversation with you to me."

"That's my point," Xander said, stepping through and waiting for Ethan to do the same. "Except on both sides."

They set off down the corridor. "I certainly hope you're not implying that my urbane and ironic wit is similar somehow to your crude American eccentricity."

"Well, I would've used different words..."

The conversation was proving pleasantly diverting, and it had just presented him with an opportunity to use one of his favourite quotations. "Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation. And that, my dear Xander, is irony."

"That, my dear Ethan, is wordy." Xander grinned and then admitted, "The scary thing is that where I grew up, that wouldn't have been a metaphor."

"I suppose not," Ethan agreed, not really thinking about his words. Diverting or not, it was hard to encourage the conversation further when his mind was quite so determined to fret about Rupert. Having to rely on Buffy to watch over Rupert wasn't a great deal of comfort either, although Ethan knew, if nothing else, that the Slayer would take her task seriously.

He said nothing much after that until, outside Rupert's offices, he asked, "When Rupert does get back here, he'll have the new girl with him. Are you likely to be about still?"

"Should be, 'less Dawn wants to go back to the hotel. But since I told her where the library was, I doubt that's going to happen for several days."

"If you are around, um... Well, I doubt Rupert will be in a fit state to give her the tour."

Xander nodded. "No problem. Just have Pamela page me when they get here."

Ethan gave Xander a quick smile and an equally quick clasp of the shoulder, before heading through the door.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Then...** _

Ripper watched the door close behind Thomas with a dull clunk. The boy had got some sort of family event on tomorrow and so, the big ritual done successfully, he'd left. Thom had been sulking somewhat and casting possessive looks towards Deirdre, whose tendency not to respect what Thom considered to be their 'relationship' was infamous.

Randall was passed out in one corner – bloke never could hold his magic - and Phil was getting rapidly off his head in another corner, hogging the bong and giggling to himself. That left Ethan - who was lounging on cushions close by, looking like some kind of harem sex slave in his ivory silk blouson, tight white jeans and rather too much gold jewellery for Ripper's taste - and Deirdre, who'd sat herself at Ethan's feet and was trying to persuade him to share a tab with her.

As Ripper finished rolling the joint he'd been working on, Ethan looked lazily over at him. "Feel like singing?"

Ripper considered. "I could be persuaded," he finally said. "What are you going to give me if I do?"

Grinning, Ethan ran his tongue around his lower lip salaciously. "Oh, I'm sure I can think of something." Suddenly, he frowned and looked down. Deirdre appeared to be running her long and glittery fingernails over the top of one of Ethan's bare feet.

Ripper was careful to hide his grin. Deirdre was very touchy-feely with all of them, but Ethan never took it well. Addressing Ethan's question, he held up the joint he'd just made and said, "Let me finish this first and then I'll see what I can do." With a deft spark of magic, he lit the thing and pulled the pungent smoke into his lungs.

"You could share that, you know," Ethan pointed out, pulling his feet up under him.

"Yeah, Ripper, don't bogart," Deirdre drawled. "Bring that over here so we can all have some. 'S bad enough Phil's got the bong to himself." She pulled herself up to her knees, straightening her very short skirt down over the tops of her sparkling nylon-clad thighs. Then, to Ethan's obvious dismay, she clambered onto the cushions beside him.

Ethan cast Ripper a beseeching 'rescue me' look.

It was difficult, but Ripper swallowed his laughter as best he could. "There's plenty of black, fags and skins left; you can make your own," he said, taking another drag then blowing out smoke rings.

Obviously seeing a chance to escape, Ethan started to roll off the cushions, heading for the dope tin, but Deirdre's hand descended like a clamp upon his leg. While Ethan stared at it as if it were some kind of disgusting and very dangerous insect, Deirdre said, "Chuck us the gear then, Ripper. You're not too shagged out by the ritual to lift an arm, I hope."

"The shagged out part comes later," Ripper said, tossing her the tin with a smile. "And so do I. Right, Ethan?"

Ethan gave him a sour look. The offending hand had been removed from his leg when Deirdre caught the tin, but it was placed back there now, while the other pushed the tin at him. "Here, Ethan. You make it. I can't roll a bloody thing with these nails."

Another hard look was directed Ripper's way before Ethan took the tin and began on a spliff of his normal impractical proportions. He said not a word.

Deirdre moved up to snag her vaunted nails in Ethan's hair. "You've got such gorgeous curls. Isn't fair, you know. Blokes always get the best hair and eyelashes to die for. I mean, you don't even need that mascara you've got on."

"I haven't," Ethan told her brusquely, unrolling several B&H to get at the tobacco within, "got any on."

Despite his best efforts, a giggle escaped Ripper. He tried to cover it up by coughing.

"That stuff's going to your head quick," Deirdre remarked. "Must be good."

Holding the lighter on to soften the edge of the small block of hash, Ethan commented acidly, "Yes. Ripper's a real lightweight. You can't rely on him at all."

Ripper lay back on the floor, turning his head to continue watching Ethan and Deirdre together. "I'm just enjoying myself, is all. The night's still young. We're with good friends. The magic went swimmingly well. What else should we be doing other than basking in its afterglow?"

Other than a brief glare, he got no reply from Ethan. Deirdre, however, said, "I can think of some things we can do." She ran her nail around the edge of Ethan's ear, where Ripper knew his lover was very sensitive. Ethan twitched.

He was still crumbling up black resin into his line of tobacco; apparently wanting something very strong.

Giving in to an evil impulse, Ripper grinned at Deirdre and asked, "Care to elaborate, sweetheart?"

Grinning back at him, Deirdre obliged. "You see, Ripper," she told him. "You don't share enough. You're keeping that joint to yourself, just like you keep Ethan to yourself. And that's plain wrong. Something as pretty as this should be public property." She ran her fingers around Ethan's neck and down over his upper chest where his half-opened shirt revealed it. "Like the National Trust."

Ethan's face was a mask of complete horror as he froze in his joint making activities. As Deirdre had to be able to see that, Ripper was forced to assume she was deliberately winding Ethan up, which was as much a part of her make up as seduction. "Do you," Ethan asked rather rigidly, "actually understand what 'homosexual' means?"

"You're the one, Ethan, who's always encouraging us to go beyond our boundaries, ignore labels and experiment," Deirdre replied, her hand sliding a bit further down Ethan's chest.

Ripper didn't even bother to try and hide his snickering this time. "She has a point, love."

"Have you ever even tried it with a woman?" she asked.

"I don't need to!" Ethan snapped, grabbing her wrist and removing her hand from inside his shirt. "If it hasn't got a cock, I'm not interested. Go and bother Phil - he's so gone, he'll let you do anything."

"Coward." Deirdre laughed, rubbing at her wrist once Ethan released her to stubbornly finish his joint. "I don't believe in gay, anyway. Or straight. I think everyone's bisexual, but most people are cowards and won't admit it."

"Then I'm a happy coward," he told her, inserting a roach and beginning the careful rolling process. "You're going to have to face it, dear. I've spurned the fish course and gone straight for the meat."

"Sorry, Deirdre," Ripper apologised between bouts of laughter. "Once Ethan makes his mind up, there's no shifting him. He's the most stubborn git I've ever met."

She laughed good-naturedly, not taking offence at all. "Maybe he'll change his mind after smoking that." She indicated the long thin spliff Ethan was still gently rolling. "He's depleted your stash by half."

Getting up, Ripper crossed the room and flopped down bonelessly on the cushions beside Ethan. "Going to smoke that whole thing?"

"No," Ethan said, sounding more than a little petulant. "I'm going to share it with Deirdre, so long as she vows not to touch me with her double-X chromosomes. You've had yours."

Ethan really was irresistible when he sulked, which was a good thing, Ripper thought, considering how much he did it. "And if I touch you with my XY chromosomes?" he asked, sliding his hand along the same path Deirdre's travelled earlier.

Ethan gave him an unreadable look from under hooded eyelids and wordlessly held out his spliff to be lit.

Deirdre, while she was keeping her own hands obediently off Ethan's body, snuggled close to the other side of him, her eyes watching Ripper's hand with great interest.

Ripper looked askance at Deirdre as he brushed a finger of his free hand against the end of Ethan's joint, lighting it with a careless thought.

She gave him a cheeky grin. "What?"

"No."

"A girl can look, can't she?"

"Yeah, Ripper," Ethan told him with a smirk, suddenly seeming a lot more at ease now Ripper was beside him. "Let her watch. I could get into that." He took a long toke and then let his head loll back.

"No," Ripper repeated, deftly stealing the spliff from Ethan to take a drag himself. Immediately things began to take on a sense of unreality.

Deirdre reached over Ethan, holding her hand out for the joint. "C'mon. You can at least share that."

Ethan giggled and turned his head to face Ripper. "Kiss me," he demanded.

"Pushy," Ripper said, handing Deirdre what she wanted.

While she engaged herself in serious inhalation, Ethan mouthed at Ripper, "Fuck me."

"Not now," Ripper growled back.

Deirdre was leaning heavily on Ethan, her attention still on the spliff. Ethan shifted so she was leaning more on his back and lifted one of his fingers to his mouth. He licked it lasciviously before sliding it slickly in and out of his sealed lips, his gaze never leaving Ripper's.

"That's not going to work." Rupert was pleased at how firm he sounded, despite his body's reactions to the spectacle Ethan was putting on.

Chuckling, Ethan very slowly drew his finger out of his mouth, scraping it between his teeth, then kissing the tip. "Liar," he said, apparently confident in his seduction technique, then sat back. Deirdre immediately fell down onto his lap. Staring down at her tousled head with bemusement, Ethan stole the spliff back and inhaled deeply.

Ripper looked squirrelishly down at Deirdre. "Might be a bit strong for her."

Ethan grunted. He seemed to have a problem focusing for a moment or two after the joint left his lips, his head moving back and forth to compensate. "That, or it's the tab she took hitting home. But," he grinned at Ripper, "I make a damn good joint."

There was a noise from Ethan's lap, and they both watched as Deirdre's head moved. Ethan's expression became increasingly befuddled and incredulous.

"Please, sweetheart," he said. "Tell me you're not trying to do what it feels like you are."

Ripper stared for a moment, and when he realised what was happening, he threw back his head and laughed. "Gotta hand it to the old girl," he said between guffaws. "She doesn't give up easy."

"Rupert," Ethan pleaded, and the use of Ripper's proper name was significant. "Do something."

Still laughing, Ripper took pity on Ethan and gently pulled Deirdre away from his lap. He took the joint from Ethan and handed it to her. "Here, darlin', put this in your mouth instead."

Ethan looked a little longingly at his spliff as Deirdre lifted it slowly to her mouth. There was a comfortable silence for a while, quite a long while, but then Ethan turned to Ripper. "Wanna go for a drive?"

Ripper narrowed his eyes, then held up his hand, complete with the archer's salute. "How many fingers?"

Ethan hung a bunch of car keys that he seemed to have appropriated from somewhere over the two fingers. "You're driving, dearheart."

"I am?" Somehow that didn't seem quite right.

Ethan crawled onto his hands and knees. It took an amusingly long time for him to manage the feat. Then he grabbed the stash tin while he was down there and staggered to his feet. "Come on. The night is, I believe you said, young, and so are we." It didn't make much sense. Ripper suspected Ethan was more than a little bit high.

"And that means I'm driving?" he asked, getting to his own feet, then waiting for the room to stop moving.

Ethan slipped his arm around Ripper's waist. "I drove last time," he said.

Ripper remembered. "You crashed last time."

Ethan giggled, leaning against him. "So let's go then."

Ripper looked back at where Deirdre half-reclined, staring at the smoke trailing up from the spliff with a serious expression of concentration. "Deirdre? You coming?" Randall was still out of it, and Phil seemed to be asleep so there was no point in asking them.

Deirdre smiled and held her arms out to be helped up. "Bag of chips would be nice," she slurred.

Ethan stepped over, but instead of taking her arm, he stole the dog end of the joint, sucking hard through the roach to get the inevitably bitter dregs.

"Hey..." Deirdre protested very slowly.

"I'd say you got more than your share of that already," Ripper told her, then shook the keys. "Coming?"

She struggled ungainly up, her long legs splaying out like a young foal's until she found her balance on her heels. "Gentlemen, both of you," she muttered sarcastically.

Ethan giggled, looking like he might be about to slump back down again to the floor. "Gentlemen's gentlemen. Ladies be buggered." He paused, then spluttered with laughter. "No. That'd be the gentlemen again."

"Could be ladies," Ripper countered, leading the way out the door into the night. "Depends on the lady."

Ethan poked him hard in the side, although in fairness it was unlikely he'd meant the gesture to be so hard. "Hoy. No ladies for you. 'Less it's me in drag."

"Do you do that?" Deirdre asked, brightening a little.

"Not in public," Ripper said curtly. Not anymore at any rate. After that one time which had almost ended up with Ethan being beaten to death, Ripper had put his foot down. Dress-up was saved for the privacy of their flat.

Deirdre's mini was parked by the curb. The keys, of course, belonged to it. She didn't seem to realise that Ripper had them, however, despite having looked straight at them. She started with great deliberation to go through her clutch purse.

Well, if it kept her out of trouble. Ripper moved over to the driver's side and concentrated very hard at getting the key in the lock.

"My keys are gone," Deirdre announced, just as Ripper got the door open. "And my new lipstick." She looked over at Ripper and the open door. "Ah well, we can use yours."

Ethan, sprawled over the roof of the tiny car, giggled helplessly and slipped backwards, falling on his arse on the pavement.

Ripper wondered if Ethan had really had only dope and beer tonight. "Good thing we're driving. Because your standing and walking is a bit dodgy right now." He folded himself up into the driver's seat, his knees feeling ridiculously high up. After spending a few moments wondering why the other two weren't getting in, he leant over and unlocked the other door.

Deirdre opened it, got into the passenger's seat, and then sat there staring out the windscreen. After a few moments she got out again. There was some swearing as she broke a nail trying to lift the seat up, and then she was wiggling her way into the back.

Another pause was followed by Ethan crawling up from the pavement into the passengers seat, where after quite a while, he finally got his legs arranged. He grinned stupidly at Ripper and gestured wildly with his hand, hitting the windscreen. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!"

There was something that kept Ripper from starting the engine. He thought about it. Oh. Yes. "Ethan?"

"Yes?" his lover said with a bright smile.

"Can you shut the door?"

More giggles were followed by a shut door. A plaintive voice from the back said, "Here. My kohl pencil's gone too."

"You can borrow Ethan's," Ripper said as he tried to put the key in the ignition... and kept missing.

"Bugger it," he finally said, tossing the keys into the back seat and then twisting to the side and down to pull out the wires to hotwire the car instead.

The engine chugged into life, and Ethan tried another rousing call. "Onward agonistic hedonist soldiers!"

"Should you be able to pronounce those words when you're this stoned?" Ripper asked as he put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

"Not stoned," Ethan said pleasantly. "Only had a few puffs."

"You just fell on your arse trying to stand and laugh at the same time."

"You've had more than me."

Ripper frowned. "That can't be right."

"You had a whole Ripper-joint to yourself and then some of the ultra-spliff."

"One hit!" he protested.

"Two," Ethan told him, counting it out on fingers he waved in front of Ripper's face. "Was two, wasn't it, Deird?" There was no answer from the back.

"Did she fall out?" Ripper asked. "Or is she dead?" He'd look himself, but he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the road. Which reminded him... "Ethan? Where are we going?"

"Docks," Ethan announced. "East India... or Limehouse. Let's go to Limehouse. Good vibe there. All those old opium dens." He made a big production of wriggling his long frame around on the seat to peer into the back. "Aww. Should I wake her with a kiss?"

Ripper snorted. "You do and she's liable to think you changed your mind about trying women."

"Maybe I should. Maybe she's right, and I won't know 'til I try. After all, 'm a man. Meant to like penetrating... things."

"You say 'things' like you're talking about an Ilsarkulan slime demon."

"Excellent description, Ripper," Ethan giggled. "Very erudite. Must say your brain's working very well considering how stoned you are." They were hitting the East End now, the houses smaller and closer packed, the general look one of smog-blackened bricks and run down narrow streets.

"Brain always works," Ripper grumbled, taking the next turn at extremely high speed and almost sending them careening off the road and into someone's front room, no doubt. Oh. Right. Brakes. He remembered to touch them on the next turn. "Stoned or not, I can always think."

Ethan had fallen on him during the first turn and didn't then move from leaning on Ripper's shoulder. The car was so tiny that the distance between them was very small anyway. "Bet I could make you not think," he said after a while, sounding sly.

Ripper could practically see the thoughts dancing in Ethan's head. "No."

"Not up to the challenge?" Ethan teased, "Ah, I knew you had your limits, Ripper, but still..."

"I told you. Not with a bloody audience."

"She's asleep. Out like a light with a dead bulb in a black out."

"She could wake up."

"Then we can stop."

Ripper snorted again. "You say that like I'd actually believe you."

He felt Ethan's hand slide up and down his thigh. "C'mon, Ripper. Even if she does wake up, what's she gonna see bar our backs? And she won't for an age anyhow. She's got three different drugs in her at least."

Another sharp turn, as Ripper decided at the last minute to take a longer route through backstreets to avoid the cop shop, spilled Ethan into his lap, or rather that small piece of his lap not covered by either steering wheel or dashboard.

"There's also the space question," Ripper pointed out as it occurred to him.

"This is hardly the Apollo mission," Ethan replied rather muffledly. There was a pause, then, "Only meant to use my hand." Nonetheless, there was definite nuzzling going on.

There was also the matter of the gearstick, which Ripper could no longer reach.

He considered that problem as he drove and did his best to ignore the nuzzling. "Ethan?"

"Mmm?" The nuzzling was starting to feel more like mouthing.

"You're lying over the gearstick."

"I know; it hurts. 'S okay. You weren't changing gear anyway. That'd involve slowing down." Ethan appeared to be trying to undo Ripper's fly with his teeth.

"Is that going to work?" Ripper asked, curiosity overriding everything else for the moment. Ethan's reply was so muffled as to be indistinguishable over the overworked engine noise and the rumble of the road. "What was that?" Ripper asked.

Suddenly there was the taint of magic in the air and warm breath on his belly. "Done it," Ethan said smugly.

So he had. Ripper debated whether he should be protesting or congratulating Ethan. Finally he settled on, "That wasn't your hand."

"No room for hands," Ethan muttered, nuzzling the two sides of Ripper's jeans apart and then starting to lick and kiss at the bare skin revealed. Ethan's hands were, in fact, supporting him at the edge of Ripper's seat.

"Isn't your head...." Ethan nuzzled a particularly sensitive spot, and Ripper trailed off for a moment, losing his train of thought. What had he been talking about? Ethan's head... Oh. Right. "Isn't your head bigger than your hand?"

Skidding wildly around another corner in order to avoid stalling due to still being in fourth gear, Ripper twisted unavoidably in the seat before Ethan could reply. So when Ethan did speak, it was to complain. "That hurt. You're a sodding awful driver, Ripper."

Whether it had really hurt Ethan or not, what it had also done was partially free Ripper's cock, a fact that quickly shut Ethan up when he noticed.

What Ethan did then quickly shut Ripper up as well, if one didn't count the involuntary gasps and moans that rumbled in his chest.

They were in Limehouse now, bombing down Narrow Street parallel with the Thames. Lazy pedestrians who were using the road as a pavement jumped out of the way in a hurry as Ripper tried out Deirdre's ridiculous bloody horn.

Ethan had Ripper's cock in his mouth now and was sucking and using his tongue as if trying to dissolve a lolly in record time.

It was, needless to say, very distracting, and Ripper had all he could do to remember that he was driving and had to keep his eyes on the road. As well as doing those other little things like steering. Luckily, he didn't need to steer much longer, although what came next was going to be tricky. "Ethan," he said, trying to get his attention.

"Mmm?" The noise vibrated pleasantly.

"I need your attention." Ripper paused. "Up here." Ethan made an inattentive noise and sucked harder. Ripper reckoned he had about thirty seconds before disaster hit, or rather before they hit disaster. "Ethan, would you stop fucking about and throw the delocking spell at the gate's lock before we run into it?"

Ethan's head moved up in a hurry. "Fu... Reclude!"

Ripper saw the heavy padlock drop to the ground a bare moment before the mini smashed into the chainlink fence. The gates flew open, and the mini skidded through, barrelled across the wooden planks and screeched to halt at the edge of the wharf.

Ripper leaned his head against the steering wheel and tried to catch his breath. "That was too bloody close." He felt suddenly, distressingly, sober.

"You've gone all soft," Ethan complained, apparently completely unfazed by the near death experience. His hand moved listlessly in Ripper's lap.

"Sure you can recto... rectit... rectify that," said Deirdre's voice from the back. "And owwww."

Ripper whipped his head around to peer into the back seat. "How long have you been awake?"

Deirdre seemed to have fallen off the backseat during the excitement. Pulling herself up, she leant forward between the two seats and smirked down at Ripper's groin. "Long enough."

He was entirely too sober to be dealing with this. "Let's have the tin," he said to Ethan, holding out a hand.

Ethan stared at his hand for a few seconds, but then understanding seemed to dawn. "Oh. Tin." He began wriggling around on his seat until he could stick his arse out at Ripper. The tin was outlined within one pocket of the tight white jeans.

Deirdre purred and reached over to stroke the proffered portion of anatomy. Ripper slapped her hand away as he reached for the tin. "We've had this discussion already."

"Yes, keep your grubby mitts off, Deird," Ethan said, squirming back round on his seat. "Unless..."

"Unless?" she asked, hanging between their chairs. Ethan just grinned. Very wickedly.

"Do I even want to know?" Ripper asked, opening the tin and digging along until he found the sachet of blue-grey powder that they'd been hoarding. Now seemed as good a time as any to use it.

"Well, you know that big book I got the other day?" Ethan replied. "From the bloke in Portobello?"

"The one you've been chortling over ever since?" Carefully taking a pinch of the powder, Ripper put it under his tongue, letting it dissolve. He closed his eyes as a feeling of warmth immediately went through his body, followed by a pleasurable tingling along every nerve ending. Oh yes, that was much better.

"That's the one," Ethan was saying. "There's a sex change spell. Right next to the magic carpet enchantment. Temporary. Want a willie, Deird?"

"All right," she agreed. "So long as you get tits." As Ethan giggled helplessly, Deirdre tried to take the tin from Ripper.

Ripper growled and pulled it away from her. Then his thoughts caught up to the conversation, and he looked at Ethan, trying to imagine him with tits. "Could be interesting."

"What the hell do I want with two useless lumps of saggy fat?" Ethan asked, trying to look outraged by the idea, but still laughing too much. His eyes fell to the tin. "Feed us a pinch, Ripper?"

"I dunno, think I'd rather fancy you as a woman." Obligingly, Ripper measured out another pinch then leant over towards Ethan. "Open up."

After a quick scowl, Ethan opened his mouth and lifted his tongue so that Ripper could drop the powder inside. As Ripper sat back again, he watched Ethan's pupils retract rapidly to pinpricks. Ethan swayed in the seat, a happy gormless grin on his face.

"So what do we need to get to do this spell then?" Deirdre asked, still looking hopefully towards the tin.

There was one thing that Ripper thought he needed to get clear. "I don't share."

Just about focusing, Ethan patted Ripper's leg and slurred, "Yes, Deird. I'm his an' the stash is his. Quite simple." His hand moved up to where Ripper's jeans were still open and started to play. "Need a load of 'spensive stuff for that spell, and to B 'n' E the British Museum. Could do the magic carpet one though."

Ripper shifted as much as he could in the seat, making it easier for Ethan to touch him. Now that they weren't actually moving he could concentrate fully on that touch. "You going to make me fly?" he asked, giggling at his own pun.

"Nah," Ethan said and tried to move closer, but Deirdre's head was in the way. He stared down at it, confused. "Could make the car fly. We could levi... levi'ate over to Southwark."

"Like that car," Deirdre asserted, suddenly excited, "in the film."

"There's a film?" Ripper peered blearily out the window in case he'd missed a billboard somewhere.

"She means Shitty Shitty Bang Bang," Ethan told him. "Remember? Was on the telly an' she got all weepy."

"Chitty Chitty," Deirdre corrected crossly.

Ripper frowned and tried to remember. "You mean that one with the car and that American git who mangled a British accent in that movie with the bird with the umbrella?"

They both blinked at him, their expressions blank. Ethan then shrugged and started doing something wonderful with his fingers, and Deirdre went back to watching, although she said, "We going to do it then?"

Ethan's fingers were very distracting. "He is doing it," Ripper pointed out.

"I want to fly," Deirdre demanded, her voice dreamy. Ripper imagined Deirdre with a giant set of wings and started giggling.

Ethan was grinning at him. "Shall we do it, Ripper? Take off across the river?"

Ripper glanced out at the Thames and then back at his grinning lover. The night seemed full of magic, and possibility seemed to churn in the air around them. He grinned back. "Hey diddle diddle, the car jumped over the moon."

Ethan leant back in his seat. "Pretty sure I can remember it... all verbals. So easy." His grin grew larger still. "You two might want to clunk-click."

Ripper missed Ethan's hand around his cock already, but could see how it might be a good idea for him to be zipped and fastened when flying. Or at least taking off. With that in mind, he fastened and clicked, making sure everything was in the upright position.

Ethan suddenly seemed a lot more clear-headed, at least in his speech. "We'll need a run up. Back up as far as you can go and rev the engine."

"Right." Ripper gunned the engine, backing the car up at full speed to the edge of the fence. "Ready?"

"When I drop my hand," Ethan told him, raising it. He began to mumble in something that sounded a lot like Arabic... but wasn't.

Deirdre bounced up and down in the back, very excited. "We're going to fly! I can't believe it!"

Ethan's chanting went on a fair time while Ripper continued to rev. Then suddenly, Ethan's hand dropped

Ripper grinned and stomped on the accelerator.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Now...** _

As soon as they got back, Giles left Buffy and the new girl, Sally, in Pamela's care and wordlessly headed for his own inner office. He could feel Ethan waiting inside and had been acutely aware of Ethan's presence tugging on him for almost the entire drive, getting progressively stronger the closer they got.

Giles found him standing near the front of the desk, looking uncertain. Ethan's jacket was off and one sleeve was rolled up high. His posture suggested he'd very much like to throw himself at Giles, but for some reason he wasn't moving.

"I'm back," Giles said, still feeling the lure towards Ethan, but Ethan's immobility seemed to hold him in place as well.

Ethan rubbed at his bare arm; his movements seemed shaky. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Giles reassured him then added, "I'd be finer if we were touching."

"Oh God, please."

Ethan's expression was beseeching. That broke Giles' temporary paralysis, and he closed the distance between them, pulling Ethan into his arms.

"Ohh." Ethan was now all movement, his hands rushing over Giles, finding skin, magic pouring out of him.

Ethan's magic was like a balm to Giles, soothing an ache so deep he was only completely aware of it now that it was easing. He pulled Ethan closer, letting his own magic reciprocate.

"Rupert, uh." Ethan grunted. Having managed to get under Giles' upper clothes, he seemed to be trying to touch all of Giles' revealed skin at once. He moved in for a kiss, and Giles could actually see the magic playing over Ethan's lips.

"Love," Giles murmured, drawn in like iron to a magnet to devour Ethan's mouth.

The kiss was hungry. Ethan moved demandingly against him, making small whimpering noises deep in his throat. His hands, which were moving up and down Giles' spine, were sending tiny shocks and ripples of sensation throughout Giles' nervous system. Things were quickly getting out of control, and Giles began to pull back, wanting to slow things down enough to talk. He got as far as "Ethan–" before his mouth was passionately covered again.

 _'Don't stop kissing,'_ Giles heard within his mind. _'Please. Don't stop touching.'_

The plea, his own growing need when faced with Ethan's constant motion, and the equally constant influx of magic, broke through Giles' control. He gave up trying to make conversation just then. Instead, he placed his hands on either side of Ethan's face and did his best to meld them together.

Ethan's hands moved around to the front of Giles, who felt his belt being undone. Giles pulled back only enough to work on getting Ethan out of his clothes as well. Frowning, Ethan grumbled. "I said–" Having got the belt open, he started on the button and zip. "Please."

"Have to get to skin to keep touching," Giles murmured, leaning in to kiss him once more.

Ethan moved one of his hands up to cup behind Giles' neck, clearly in an effort to stop Giles from breaking the kiss again. Giles felt the other hand slip into his boxers, magic spilling out over his belly and cock, and he groaned loudly at sensations that were almost too intense, too fast. If it had been any touch but Ethan's, it would have been.

Ethan seemed to be trying to suck on Giles' tongue, while his hand was moving uncoordinatedly within Giles' open trousers, his natural grace already subsumed somewhat by desire and urgency.

 _'Easy,'_ Giles said with his mind since his mouth was otherwise occupied and looked like it would be for quite some time. They needed to slow down, at least until the issue of clothing in the way was dealt with. _'I'm right here. Not going anywhere.'_

 _'But you weren't,'_ was the reply, and far from slowing down, Giles felt Ethan's charged up hand curl around his cock. His sight actually whited out for a second at the feeling. _'Rupert!'_ Ethan's mental tone was somewhere between pleading and demand.

Giles growled and pulled Ethan's hand away from him. Ethan made a muffled noise of outraged complaint.

 _'Behave!'_ Giles ordered, grabbing onto Ethan's other wrist, pulling both behind Ethan's back and holding them there with one hand. With the other, he worked on getting Ethan's trousers open and out of the way, his own magic sparking along his fingertips without his conscious control.

Ethan moaned and writhed and struggled, but didn't break the kiss even now. _'Hurry!'_

Giles pulled back enough to speak and growled, "Behave!" again. He tightened his grip on Ethan's wrists, pulling them upwards slightly in an effort to control him.

Grimacing in what could, at the most, only be mild pain, Ethan panted for breath and looked reproachfully at Giles. "I am!"

"Then stop the bloody squirming! I can't fuck you if I can't get your trousers off."

"Your magic..." Ethan moaned, probably trying to explain why squirming was necessary, but he stilled somewhat. He was still trembling like a scared dog under Giles' touch.

 _'It's going to be all right,'_ Giles soothed, switching back to thoughts as he finally was able to succeed in getting Ethan's trousers open and out of the way. _'We need more than blind groping. I'm going to give it to you.'_

"Please," Ethan begged, leaning his head towards Giles again as much as he could manage. _'Please.'_

Giles kissed Ethan once more, hard and possessing, then spun him around and pushed him over the desk.

Desk equipment and stationery scattered everywhere as Ethan threw his arms out to stop his face slamming into the wood. "Christ, Ripper," he muttered. "Yes..." His trousers and boxers had fallen down to his ankles, but Ethan's arse, for now, was covered by his mauve shirt.

Pushing the material up out of the way, Giles guided his cock to the entrance of Ethan's body, pushing immediately inside, a stream of magic the only preparation he gave.

"Ahh." Ethan contracted his muscles around him, becoming almost impossibly tight, but then relaxed, shuddering. "Ripper," he moaned, and then in Giles' mind, _'Dearheart. Please. Show no mercy.'_

At that point, Giles didn't need the encouragement. Now that they had started, the same urgency that had devoured Ethan was swallowing him as well. Gripping Ethan's hips, he thrust into him hard and fast.

"God. God..." Ethan's arms moved out, knocking more stuff from the table, and his hands grasped the edge, white-knuckling under the pressure.

"Mine," Giles growled, the word falling from his lips without thought as he continued to try to fuck Ethan right through the table.

The reply was in his head as well as out loud. "Yours. Always yours."

"Yes." He thrust harder. "Always. Mine."

Giles' vision seemed cloudy, and what little part of his brain he had left to think with at first decided that he was seeing through a lust-fogged haze. Then he realised that what he was looking at was their mingled magic filling the air around them, charging it up like static electricity before a storm.

Ethan was grunting and muttering beneath him, the words little more than mindless sounds as he was pushed back and forth over the desk with every shove of Giles' body. In Giles' mind, however, Ethan was slightly more coherent. _'Love, magic, destiny, always. Love, magic, destiny, always.'_ He repeated it like a mantra, one word for each thrust.

Yes. In that moment, everything. Ethan writhing beneath him, their magic crackling and swirling around them, the words echoing in Giles' mind –- Giles was struck by how right this all was. An absolute certainty invaded every molecule of his being. He was meant to be here, in this minute, doing exactly what he was doing. Doing exactly who he was doing as well. It was all exquisitely apposite.

Ethan's chant continued, becoming more and more desperate as the sensations surged inexorably towards the inevitable peak. The magic seemed to pulse to his words, to Giles' thrusts, everything in an inescapable rhythm that drove them onward like the drum of a slave driver. _'Love, magic, destiny, always. Love, magic, destiny, always.'_

Giles' awareness narrowed to the feel of Ethan beneath him, their magic around them, and Ethan's words in his mind. Well, maybe what Ethan was saying out loud too as he was begging so pitifully. "Ripper. Please. Please, touch me." Without thought, Giles obeyed, reaching around and closing his fingers around Ethan's erection.

It was like he had completed an electrical circuit. Fire flashed through him, magic so potent it would be painful at any other time. Ethan bucked and squirmed below him, wailing discordantly, swearing and pleading. In his mind, the words of Ethan's mantra seemed to flash onto Giles' mind's eye like a lightning strike. _'Love, magic, destiny, always.'_ And then Ethan was coming beneath him.

There was no way Giles could've held back his own climax.

After a while, draped over Ethan's back, Giles became aware that Ethan was shivering as if cold. "Love?" Giles murmured, pulling back and letting Ethan up and then pulling him around into his arms.

Ethan's legs seemed to fold beneath him, and he clung to Giles. "Help? I think I've damaged something."

Giles' own legs were none too steady so he staggered them both over to his chair and collapsed into it, pulling Ethan onto his lap. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out with his magic sense, looking for any damage.

"Nothing." Ethan laughed a little breathlessly. "I just seemed to be a little spineless. I, er..." He paused suddenly and straightened then stilled in Giles' lap. "Heh."

"What?"

"Heh," Ethan repeated and wriggled uncomfortably.

Giles shifted a little, trying to help Ethan find a more comfortable position. "What's heh?"

Ethan looked at him with a cringing smile. "I feel rather like I always used to after a powerful ritual spell."

Giles frowned and reached out with his magic sense again to see if he could figure out exactly what ritual spell Ethan could have accidentally performed.

It was true that the potent and plentiful magic they had released during their activities was now all but gone. It would normally dissipate slowly, but now that Giles came to think about it, he rather felt it had been gone ever since their climaxes. It was hard to work out how the magic had been used, however. There was no residue of the kind most spells would leave.

That was worrisome. Following their instincts with magic was one thing, but when he couldn't even work out exactly what it was they'd done... "Do you know what happened?" he asked.

"No, but I can guess," Ethan told him, snuggling closer. "The words I was repeating..."

"Love, magic, destiny, always," Giles murmured.

"I truly never intended... I was just... I don't know what I was doing," Ethan admitted. "The words made me feel good, added to the whole experience."

"Sex magic usually does feel good," Giles pointed out, still frowning. "So it was... a binding of some kind?"

"Really, Rupert, I don't know. I had no intention in mind as I had no idea that I was doing... whatever it was that I was doing. I'm... I'm sorry. Can it really be anything that bad with those words? Our words?"

"Probably not," Giles admitted. "It's just... We did it without knowing we were doing it, or what we did. That's a dangerous precedent."

Ethan shivered again, and he moved his hand up to rub at his other arm, the one with the rolled up sleeve. Giles realised that was the arm branded with a badger-shaped mark. Their sex really was getting quite excessive, wasn't it?

He reached out and touched the brand himself, unfocusing his eyes slightly so that he could see the magically formed mark. "That I meant to do." Just in case there was any doubt.

"Heh," Ethan said yet again, his eyes staring away from Giles.

"We just have to be careful. We don't want to accidentally blow the roof off the place, after all. That might be a bit hard to explain in the insurance forms."

"Hmm, yes." Ethan definitely still seemed a bit distracted. "Tell me, Rupert. That orange light on your intercom hanging off the desk by its lead there, what does it mean?"

Giles stared at the orange light, which indicated that the intercom was open, with something he was sure was close to horror.

"Oh dear," Ethan said quietly. "Lucky Pammy."

Feeling the heat in his face, Giles reached over and flipped the intercom off.

"So, let's summarise," Ethan said with some sarcasm. "First, I nearly cause you to kill yourself and two Slayers by calling at an inopportune time. Then I cast powerful magic without even knowing what or how. Then we discover that I somehow pushed a button that has revealed our sex life in all its glory to your assistant. What should I do for tea?"

"You've had a rather full day, haven't you?" Giles asked, teasing gently.

"Perhaps you better be in charge of cooking tonight, remembering that I have a history of kitchen disasters already."

"We'll pick up take away on the way home."

Ethan chuckled, but then frowned. "Um, am I in trouble?"

Leaning over, Giles kissed him gently. "Firstly, you didn't cause me to almost kill myself; that blame lies squarely with that psychotic lorry driver. Secondly, neither of us know exactly what's happening with our magic; the blame there, if there is any, would have to lie on both of us. Thirdly... Well, all right, I'll give you the revealing our sex life."

"If you hadn't shoved me over the table..." Ethan started to defend himself, but then grinned. "Want me to chat with Pammy?"

"Pamela is the least of our worries on that regard. I left Buffy and Sally with her in the outer office."

Ethan hissed. Then giggled. Then he seemed to be trying very hard to look serious, although he was failing. "Oh... dear."

"Yes, I can see you're completely broken up about it," Giles said wryly.

"Dearheart, I'm sitting on your lap with my trousers around my ankles and your posh Council office looking like it's been the scene of some dreadful bout of fisticuffs. I really can't feel anything very much but proud." Ethan's smug expression certainly confirmed his words.

The office, or at least the area around his desk, did look rather like some kind of localised windstorm had hit it. It was going to take a considerable time to tidy up. "Oh dear."

Now Ethan was definitely smirking. He cupped Giles' face in his warm hands and kissed him softly once before saying, "Of course, ultimately, this is all entirely your fault."

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Well," Ethan began to explain after kissing Giles again. "You decided you simply had to go to Leighton Buzzard of all places. None of this would have happened had you stayed safely at home where I could keep an eye on you."

Giles shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He really didn't want to start an argument just then, but still, his going to Leighton Buzzard had been necessary. "I had to collect Sally, and I don't think having you and Buffy trapped in the same car for the length of time it took to drive there and back would have been such a good idea."

"Anyone could have collected her, Rupert."

He shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not going to just sit in this chair and send others to do all the work. I need to keep in touch, Ethan."

"Then you need to keep in touch with me," Ethan said, really quite placidly.

"If I had kept any closer touch with you in the last half hour, we would've broken the desk."

That got another giggle from Ethan, but he insisted, "You know what I'm saying, dearheart."

He did. Giles sighed and didn't answer. He didn't know how to tell Ethan without upsetting him that their bond sometimes now felt more like chains weighing him down than the wonder of connection it should've been.

Apparently sensing his mood, or at least that something was wrong, Ethan slipped from Giles' lap, his face turned away from Giles. He restored his clothing to some sort of order, but didn't say anything. Giles watched him and idly rubbed a finger over the ring he wore. "I love you," he said because he felt like he needed to say it.

Ethan turned, and his answering smile seemed sad as he said, "Always."


	8. Chapter 8

Giddy was chasing a non-existent bee.

"He's already twice the size he was when he asked to be taken to you," Ethan pointed out, watching the gambolling puppy bounce around the slope. He supposed he might be exaggerating a bit, but Gwydion really was bigger than many adult dogs.

They were back on the Heath again, having come to the mutual decision that they had too many good memories of Hampstead to be put off the place by the exploits of Ethan the Fox. Having said that, Rupert was steering them well away from the East Heath, and instead they were walking down by the ponds, towards the meadows. Ethan felt exceedingly grateful for that.

"He really isn't built to be a city dog," Rupert said, his eyes following Gwydion's antics. "He's going to need more space than we have."

Ethan caught himself wondering how much of that was Rupert himself feeling claustrophobic. "We could perhaps find somewhere bigger out of town if we didn't mind the commute," he said cautiously.

"It's certainly an idea worth looking into." A slight frown marred Rupert's expression. "Of course, we'd have to make sure it wasn't outside of our 'range', or you'd be forced to accompany me in to the office even when you had nothing to do."

Ethan tried to hide his wince. "It's not as if I'd mind, dearheart. I'm only a Watcher because of you, after all." He shut up, feeling he was probably making things worse.

He had no idea whether it was connected or not, but ever since Buffy had arrived in London, Rupert had been increasingly restless. Their bond, which to Ethan was something inordinately precious, seemed to be becoming a source of irritation to Rupert, a fact that both depressed and worried Ethan.

Rupert reached out for his hand. "It could be very boring for you, love," he said softly, "when I deal with all that organisation and red tape that you despise so much."

Ethan didn't care. Didn't Rupert understand that Ethan only did anything because of him? "You could give me the office next door so I wouldn't be in the way. Chuck out old whatshisname. You wouldn't even know I was there."

"I always know you're there," Rupert told him with a smile.

"Well, you wouldn't know what I was doing," Ethan insisted, smiling back. "My boredom or lack of it wouldn't bother you, and I wouldn't be a constant irresistible temptation." He winked.

Rupert seemed to relax a little. "You're always a constant irresistible temptation, love."

Relaxing more in turn, Ethan opened his mouth to say something pleasant and instead found himself yelling "Giddy!" as the dog barrelled into the pond ahead of them, sending ducks scattering.

"When we move, we'd best make sure it's not near a body of water," Rupert commented wryly, before raising his voice to call Gwydion back to them.

The wolfhound, having totally ignored Ethan, came immediately to his master's call and proceeded to soak both men as he shook himself dry.

"I think the dog would be much happier as a rat," Ethan said acidly.

"You're not changing my dog into a rat," Rupert said patiently. He then murmured, " _Exhala aquam viduum,_ " magicking the moisture from their clothes and Gwydion's fur. "Although that would certainly solve the space problem. Assuming he was rat-sized and not a rat Gwydion-sized."

Shivering both at that alarming image and at the touch of Rupert's magic, Ethan walked a little closer to Rupert. "If we get a bigger place, maybe I could have an annoying pet too." He chuckled at the thought.

"I'm sure we could manage something even where we are now if you want a pet." Rupert looked at him curiously. "What kind of annoying pet would you want?"

Not considering the answer seriously, Ethan replied, "A mynah bird. I could teach it obscenities and the words to cantrips."

Rupert regarded him thoughtfully. "You've never struck me as the bird type."

"No," Ethan agreed, "but in truth, I wouldn't want something I'd get attached to. It would only get itself run over."

There was still a part of him even now that remembered all too clearly the day his eight-year-old self had watched his puppy, his best Christmas present ever until the Ripper days, flattened into something surreal and unrecognisable on the road near his home. He'd joked about it since, of course, as the story was the stuff of the worst Charles Dickens imitators, but it had happened, and it had, apparently, scarred.

"You're attached to me, and I haven't got myself run over," Rupert said softly. Ethan didn't answer; he didn't even want to think about the possibility. "Nor has Gwydion, and protest as you might, I think you're attached to him as well."

"Do you want to sit down?" Ethan asked, indicating a nearly bench.

Rupert hesitated and then shook his head. "Would it bother you if we kept walking?" He smiled very faintly. "I'm still rather caught up in the novelty of having two legs that work."

"Then by all means, let's continue." Ethan didn't mind, so long as they stopped talking about loved ones meeting fatal accidents.

They continued ambling slowly across the field, Rupert's hand once again finding Ethan's. "So cat or dog?" Rupert asked after a moment.

"Skunk," Ethan said immediately, refusing to take the topic seriously.

Rupert laughed. "Something that seems inviting, but if you don't handle it just right, you end up regretting it." He squeezed Ethan's hand. "Sounds about right."

Ethan wasn't sure if he'd just been complimented or insulted, but he smiled and returned to an earlier topic. "So if you could live anywhere, money and circumstance no obstacle, where would you choose?"

"Anywhere?" Rupert considered. "Somewhere quiet, I think, but not too isolated." He glanced at Ethan. "With you, of course."

"England or elsewhere?" Ethan asked, walking close enough for their bodies to rub together for a step or two.

"Doesn't matter. If I've learned one thing over the years, it's that home isn't a place so much as it is people." Rupert paused, glancing down at Gwydion who was gambolling around them. "And dogs."

Ethan nodded. "I liked Devon a lot more than I thought I would. To start with it was all a bit too lonely and green, but I grew accustomed to the wildness, liked it even. After all, that's the kind of chaos I'm meant to be courting these days, isn't it?"

"Is that the kind of place you'd like to live though?" Rupert asked curiously. "I've always pictured you as more... Well, you've always seemed partial to the city life."

"Yes, I am... was." Ethan snorted quietly. "I'm still changing, I think. The ramifications of all that's happened haven't stopped... ramificating." He chuckled at his made-up word. "You may want me to talk less with Xander."

Rupert chuckled too. "He does seem to be rubbing off on you a bit."

"The boy's quite charming in his own strange way. It's a good job for him I'm so attached to you." Ethan made sure he was looking away while he said that so that Rupert couldn't see his amused expression.

"I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear that," Rupert said wryly.

Tutting and sighing, Ethan looked back. "There's absolutely nothing I can do or say to make you jealous anymore, is there?"

"Not with Xander."

"You could at least pretend, to make me happy. And who would make you jealous anyway?"

Rupert considered for a long moment. "I don't know. It isn't people I worry about losing you to."

That was a more serious answer than he'd expected, but Ethan went with the change of mood. "Chaos?" he questioned. "Or my insecurities? The two things have a surprising amount in common," he realised out loud.

"I don't worry much about Chaos, not you being seduced by it, not anymore. But our insecurities and fears, those I do worry about."

Ethan pulled on Rupert's hand, making him stop for a moment so that they could face each other. "I'll keep my promise," he said seriously. Rupert looked at him with strong emotion shining in his eyes and then leant in and kissed him.

It always warmed Ethan to be kissed in public, not just arousing his libido, although public sex was unarguably one of his kinks, but also his emotions. That Rupert cared enough about Ethan to not care about the stares and comments was wonderful.

"I know you will," Rupert murmured, responding to Ethan's words when he finally pulled back.

Ethan smiled, staring into Rupert's eyes for a while. Then he started them walking again. "So, a place in the country for us, your dog, and my skunk then?" he asked with a grin.

Rupert smiled back. "Sounds just about perfect."

Ethan surprised himself by agreeing. "Our Slayers and other friends visiting occasionally? Real ale on tap down the local? Central heating and a real fire during the winter?"

"I won't let you get cold," Rupert promised, chuckling.

"Close to wild places where I can commune with storms..." Ethan sighed; he could feel the smile dropping slowly from his face. "There's still a small jaded part of me that takes the piss quite horribly when I start imagining fond futures."

"We've got a fond present; it's not out of the realm of possibility that there'll be a fond future as well. With storms and central heating and wild places and real ale." Rupert chuckled again. "Maybe we can even buy our own little country village pub."

"Oh," Ethan beamed at Rupert. "Brilliant idea – beer on tap all the time and people to watch. We should call it, hmm, 'The Fox and Badger'."

"Not 'The Skunk and the Pit Pony'?"

"That does have a certain ring to it," Ethan acknowledged with a laugh.

Rupert nodded decisively. "It's settled then. Some day we'll buy a pub and retire there."

"It's a lovely dream, Rupert," Ethan said affectionately. "I shall hold onto it for dark times. We're truly not the boys we once were, that's for sure."

"No," Rupert agreed softly. "We're not. In spite of everything we've been through, I wouldn't go back to those days."

Ethan felt slightly defensive of his youth. "I'm glad we had them, apart from how they ended anyhow. We were wild and free, and I refuse to regret anything bar Eyghon."

"I don't regret, but we were running far too close to the edge," Rupert said, voice still soft. "We would've fallen, if not to Eyghon, then something else. But now..." He stopped, turning Ethan to face him once again. "Now we know how precious what we have is. We won't risk it or throw it away."

Really, Ethan didn't have the words to answer that, so he just hugged Rupert, relatively confident that the gesture would be welcomed.

Rupert's arms closed around him in return, holding him tight. "I never forget that," Rupert murmured almost too low to be heard. "Even when I'm feeling... closed in, I never forget what it was like without you, compared to now. I won't risk going back to that."

Christ, that felt almost bitterly good to hear. Ethan nuzzled the side of Rupert's face. "We'll find a way to make you more comfortable," he promised blithely. "Whatever it takes."

Rupert pulled back to smile at him, although there was a touch of sadness in the expression. Then he leant in to kiss Ethan once more.

***

Ethan stared at the unappetising contents of the lasagne tray with disquiet. "Is it meant to look like that?"

"Well, it's not cooked yet," Megan pointed out. "Everything looks vaguely disgusting until you cook it."

"I feel like a failed medical student who, having seen inside the human body, can never quite enjoy touching one again without remembering." He ground some more black pepper over the dish in the hope of somehow improving matters.

Megan reached over and took the pepper from him. "We don't want to make people sneeze when they try to take a breath," she said mildly. She added another layer of sauce, pasta and cheese.

Feeling vaguely nauseated, Ethan turned back to preparing the Caesar salad on the counter beside her. This, at least, he knew how to do. "Have you thought more about what you'd like to do for your birthday?"

She shrugged. "You don't have to go to any trouble on my account."

Frowning, Ethan glanced back. "Haven't we already had this discussion? And more than once for that matter. It's not 'trouble'."

"You sure? I mean, with Buffy and Dawn here now, I thought..."

"You thought what?" Ethan looked at her incredulously.

"That you'd have other things on your mind."

"Megan," he said, softening his tone as he placed a hand on her back. "You have to stop doing this."

She looked up at him with a weak smile. "Sorry."

"We're a pair, aren't we?" He let a strand of her long hair slide through his fingers and said gently, "You matter, sweetheart. Truly." Inhaling and returning to a normal tone as he went back to his chopping, he added, "Now let's try again. What do you fancy doing for your birthday?"

"I... Could we...?" Megan looked up shyly. "I'd like to go out. Somewhere. Like where you and Giles go."

"To celebrate independence from the parental units?" Ethan asked, smiling to himself as he grated the Parmesan.

"I guess." She put the lasagne in the oven then wandered over to where Ethan was working. "But more to... maybe start seeing if I can find my own Giles?"

He nodded, taking her seriously, but made sure he met her eyes before saying, "You will be realistic, won't you? Rupert and I had both had lovers before meeting each other." He felt proud that he didn't flinch at all saying that. "Don't expect the first girl you like the look of to be the one."

"I know." Megan smiled shyly. "But if I can't immediately find Miss Right, hopefully I can at least find Miss Right Now."

"Yes," Ethan nodded again, smiling warmly. "Well, Rupert and I will take you somewhere nice and more than once to help you get the confidence you need. And... will madam actually permit me to take her shopping for clothes for the event?"

"Are you going to fix me up like you did Kat?" The glow in her eyes told Ethan exactly how much the idea pleased her.

Surprised but delighted by the idea, Ethan said, "Of course I will. I think something more subtle than what I did for Kat though, don't you?"

"I guess... I'm more of a wallflower than she is."

"Megan," he said warningly.

"Well, I am!" she insisted and then shrugged. "Of course, ninety percent of the Slayers would be wallflowers compared to Kat. She's a bit..."

He was already planning colours and a general look in his head. "I'm going to make you see your own beauty, my dear."

She blushed prettily, but didn't look away. "That's what I'm hoping for."

He finished putting the salad together and opened the fridge door to find a place for the bowl so it could cool until it was needed. "Trust me," he said upon turning back and gave her his best evil smirk.

"I do," Megan said immediately with a smile. All too many people seemed to trust him these days. Ethan didn't know how it had happened and didn't consider it wise of them... but he wouldn't let Megan down. She added in a softer tone, "Then that's what I want for my birthday."

"Then that's what you shall have." Running a hand lightly across her back as he passed, Ethan moved to the kitchen door and stuck his head out into the living room where Rupert and Xander were chatting. "I think this is a sit-at-the-table job if you'd care to set said table."

"Wow, fancy," Xander teased as he and Rupert got up and dodged around Giddy, who'd thought the call also included him.

"Just potentially messy," Ethan told him. "Although Megan assures me it won't taste like intestines and raw blood once it's cooked."

Rupert frowned. "I thought you were making lasagne." He side-stepped around the dog again and said sternly, "Gwydion, please go and lie down."

"Just an analogy, dearheart... Giddy, no! Not in the damn kitchen. There's no room!" Ethan grabbed the huge puppy by the collar and dragged him back out of Megan's way.

"Here, I'll take him," Rupert said, coming over and taking the collar from Ethan. He waited for the dog to look up and then gave the animal his stern Watcher look. "You know that wasn't what I meant. When I say lie down, I mean in your bed. Now go."

When Rupert released the collar, Gwydion did exactly what he was told, his tail stuck firmly between his legs.

Ethan watched for a while as Rupert and Xander took the plates and cutlery from the dresser into the study, which was to serve in its original role of dining room for a little while. Then the four of them sat and watched most of Ready Steady Cook, which resulted in a great deal more laughter than the BBC deserved for the low-budget show.

When they returned to the kitchen, Megan took the lasagne out of the oven. Cooking had indeed transformed it into something golden and hunger-inducing. "Well done, dear," Ethan said happily.

She grinned up at him. "Told you so. Even you could do this dish without blowing up the kitchen."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said wryly, arranging the warmed ciabatta in a basket. "Really."

"That's true," Rupert put in, coming in to help bring the food to the table. "Ethan once almost burned our flat down just boiling water."

"Christ, I'd forgotten that." Ethan chuckled, passing the breadbasket to over. "Yes, truly, I'm a menace to domesticity."

"Why the hell did you let him cook Thanksgiving dinner then?" Xander asked from the doorway.

"He pouted," Rupert replied, smiling fondly at Ethan. "Besides I've long since mastered a flame-smothering spell. Right after the incident with the water, actually, if I recall correctly."

"It's the natural chaos of my nature," Ethan claimed. "It makes things... unpredictable. Especially when cooking with gas."

Megan giggled. "You hadn't even started cooking anything when the first disaster happened on Thanksgiving."

He gave her a pretend glare. "Well, you better hope I've a defter hand with clothes and cosmetics than when I try and cook you a nice meal."

"I've seen your work," Megan replied. "I'm not worried."

Ethan removed the salad from the fridge and passed it to Xander. "Here. You better take it before it ignites," he said drily.

Xander grinned. "As long as there's no arrows coming in through the window, I'm happy."

"Oh God," Rupert groaned. "Yes, let's avoid a repeat of that meal if at all possible."

Removing the chilling wine from the fridge, Ethan then shut the door. He spread his arms wide to herd the two men in the doorway out. "Move along. Slayer carrying hot baked intestines coming through."

Megan giggled, and holding the hot dish with oven gloves, advanced on them with false menace. Amidst laughter and more small talk, all the food managed to get to the table, and they sat down to eat.

Handing Rupert the lasagne knife with a smile, Ethan moved around their small table filling wine glasses. This was really quite blissfully domestic, and a scene he'd never have been able to imagine himself partaking in even six months ago. Kat, he thought, should have been with them to make things perfect, but somehow the imperfection of her absence just underlined how almost painfully good this was.

For a brief moment, he forgot how to breathe.

He caught himself almost longing for simpler times when he'd cared only about himself, Chaos, and the distant yet ever-present push-pull of Rupert. It was a stupid craving, and he quickly dismissed it, knowing full well that it was based in fear of loss as opposed to anything at all being preferable then than now.

It did scare Ethan, however, how much scenes like this meant. It made him feel desperately vulnerable, or would have, had he let himself really feel it. But while he was nowhere near as good as Rupert at repressing emotion, Ethan had years of experience at channelling one emotion through another, more acceptable feeling.

As Rupert bravely cut through the golden cheese crust, savoury sauce and meat juices bubbling through the crack, Ethan raised his glass in a toast. "To domesticity. Long may it reign unscorched."


	9. Chapter 9

"Giles," Dawn whispered, her eyes wide in the light of the heavy torch. "This place is beyond wigsome."

Giles looked around them at the old brick and mortar of the walls of the subterranean tunnel they were walking through. "It's not that bad," he countered.

"Yes, it is!" she insisted, her whisper a sharp hiss. "It's all Jack the Ripper and the Phantom of the Opera. Just around the corner, there'll be a guy in a iron mask holding a huge rusty hatchet."

"'Phantom of the Opera' and 'The Man in the Iron Mask' were both set in France, not England."

"Same difference. It's all European and gothic and stuff. I wish Buffy was here." Buffy was, in fact, with Xander being a tourist elsewhere in the capital, while Giles and Dawn concentrated on research. It was possible, admittedly, that no one else bar Giles considered traversing London's subterranean tunnels looking for ancient vaults under the purview of 'research'.

"You could've gone with her and Xander," he pointed out.

"You said we were going to do research!" Dawn protested. Giles was certain, however, that the girl was enjoying every moment of this adventure, which in fact involved very little risk. He would never have taken her if it had. These particular tunnels were private and very well protected by magic as well as the locked grills and gates.

"And so we shall," he assured her. "There's something I want to show you, but we have to get to where it's kept first."

"What kind of something?"

"Something magical and potentially quite dangerous." He let his voice drop down to more confidential tones, knowing the implied secrecy would make Dawn all the more interested.

"Coool. So is it like a big secret?" She stood patiently as Giles unlocked another iron gate.

"Moderately big." He gestured her through the gate before following and locking it again behind them.

"Neat. My lips are henceforth sealed. Is it something that's stored down here? Or something that, uh, lives here?" Dawn's whisper had long since increased in volume to happy chatter.

"It's stored here, but only because here is where I put it." He smiled at her. "You'll see."

There was a very brief silence, then, "You went to Oxford, didn't you? Is Cambridge the same at all?"

"They are quite similar, in the way that Yale and Harvard are similar." He smiled faintly. "They also have the same type of rivalry."

"I'm excited," she said in the manner of true confession. "Terrified, but so, so excited. Will we be rivals when I'm there? Should I buy a Cambridge scarf or something?"

Giles winced at the thought of someone under his care wearing Cambridge colours and then chuckled at himself; some reactions seemed more ingrained than he would have predicted. "You can buy and wear whatever colours you want," he finally said.

"There's this boat race, isn't there? Ethan told me about it. And Oxford always wins. So I'll have to learn a helpful spell or two to help my side. Ethan told me he used to know a perfect one, but he refused to tell me how to do it 'cause he said you'd spank him. Uh... would you really?"

"I'm not sure you're old enough for me to answer that."

"I know about spanking!" she declared. "Anya told me that she and Xander–"

"Yes, I'm sure she did," Giles said, cutting off Dawn before she could finish that sentence. Although he had to hand it to Anya, she still was trying to embarrass him even from beyond the grave.

They had reached their destination, a thick oaken door barring their way. Carved into it at roughly head height was a rectangular grid, each square of the grid containing a different symbol.

"Oh," Dawn said, obviously fascinated, and she reached out to touch the carving.

Giles caught her wrist before she made contact. "There's a certain pattern that has to be utilised," he said.

"Oops," she said, stepping back. "What happens if you get it wrong?"

"I'm not sure." He smiled wryly. "But do we really want to take the chance?"

She stepped closer again, studying the symbols carefully but not touching. "They're like something from an IQ test."

Giles nodded his head approvingly. "Can you figure it out?" he asked. "Just point, don't touch."

"Well... that mark there is the Babylonian glyph for 'beginning' so I guess that's where we start. From there, we could either go to this one or that one." She pointed to two of the three adjoining squares. "Only this one leads to a dead end up here where nothing continues the pattern, so we have to go the other way..." She continued through the maze of symbols, adeptly spotting and avoiding dead ends, and eventually finding her way to the glyph for 'end'.

"Very good indeed," Giles praised, reaching out and touching the pattern in the same order that Dawn had pointed out. Then he stood back as the door slowly swung open.

Inside was a large brick-lined construction with a rounded ceiling and many shelves and crates, including some behind a locked steel grill. In atmosphere, Giles had often felt it was similar to his family's old wine cellar beneath the manor house. Of course, the wine cellar didn't have enchanted light that flickered into existence from nowhere as they walked inside.

"Wow," Dawn said, almost reverently.

"Indeed. That was very much my reaction the first time I came here."

"How did you– I mean, is this Council property?" She was following his lead as they entered the space and not going off to explore.

"No. I found a reference to it in some old texts when I was a museum curator. Went on a bit of a scavenger hunt and found this place." Giles looked around fondly. From the start this vault had always felt like his in a way that very little else had ever felt until recently. He wasn't sure if he understood it, much less could explain it, he just knew what he felt.

"Wow," she said again. "So what is all this stuff? Is it all yours?"

"Some of it," he replied. "A lot of it was here when I found the place."

"What is it all?" she asked again, obviously dying to take a look around.

"A little bit of everything: texts, artefacts, weapons..." He nodded at the far wall where various swords, axes and other weapons hung. "Some of the things are undoubtedly little more than scrap, but there's also some valuable and unique pieces."

"Can I... look at things?"

"Go ahead," Giles told her with a smile. "Just try not to trigger anything."

She moved around the chamber, looking intently at everything she encountered and glancing at Giles for permission before each time she touched something. "Guess it had to seem like Christmas when you first found all this."

"There may have been some chortling," Giles admitted.

"Wow," Dawn said yet again. "It's like a stockpile or something. Like a bomb shelter, only instead of food, it's our sort of stuff – magic books and weapons. Who do you think put them down here? The stuff that isn't yours, I mean."

"I'm not entirely sure. I was never able to find anything more than veiled references." Giles walked over to the area that was behind the locked grill, touching the key with a finger and clicking the tumblers over with a touch of magic. " _Reclude!_ " He used to just pick the lock, but magic made it much easier.

Dawn walked over to stand beside him. "What you want to show me, it's in there?"

"Yes." He slid inside and picked the Mallon's Chest off the shelf where he'd put it. "Ethan and Xander liberated this from Francesca Travers' safe. I suspect she got it from the investigation of what was left of the mage who attacked Ethan and me."

"Oh." Dawn's eyes were wide. "I get the dangerous now."

"Very." Giles brought the chest out and set it down in the centre of the circle inlaid in slate and quartz in the surface of the wooden table which itself was in the centre of the vault. He murmured softly in Latin, creating magic shields around the chest, and only once he was satisfied that they were firm did he open it.

Dawn had kept very quiet during the warding, but now leant cautiously forward and looked inside at the black cloth bag. "What is it?" she asked, whispering as if in an old fashioned library or a church.

"As far as we've been able to tell, it's pure chaos. A sort of anti-reality." Even with the shields, Giles could feel the power contained within the pouch pulsing away; it made him feel like ants were crawling just under his skin. Worse, it made his leg throb like it still wasn't healed.

"It feels... strange," Dawn said, reaching a little way towards it, but stopping herself. "Like something I've felt before somewhere."

Giles looked sharply at her. "Can you remember when?"

She shook her head. "No. In a dream maybe? It just feels all deja-vu-y. Do you think it's important?"

"I don't know." He tilted his head, looking from Dawn back to the bag. "Perhaps."

She was still staring into the chest. "It's got a mark on it, a glyph. Is there a safe way to touch it so we can see better?"

Frowning in concentration, Giles added more layers of shields around the pouch as well as around his fingers. Then, gritting his teeth, he reached into the chest and pulled the pouch out.

"Wow. Uber-deja vu. I've seen that somewhere, Giles. I know it." Dawn scrabbled in her satchel bag and pulled out a jotter and pen.

"I'd appreciate all due haste," Giles said, hearing the strain in his own voice. He wasn't sure how long he could hold onto the pouch. Each second he did brought back phantom memories of being wounded on the train, things that his mind had blurred or blocked out entirely since.

She drew only a very basic sketch, her pen moving fast over the paper. "Done!"

Giles all but threw the pouch back in the chest and slammed the lid closed.

"That bad, huh?" Dawn put a concerned hand on his arm. "Do you need to sit down?"

"I'm all right," he assured her, straightening and pushing himself away from the table where the chest lay. Absently, he rubbed his hand on his sweater as he took a few deep breaths.

Dawn was quiet. When he'd recovered enough to look back, he saw she was filling in the details of her sketch. That made Giles smile; Dawn really was born to do this sort of work, no matter the method of her birth. When she was done, she returned her jotter to her bag and smiled at Giles. "To the library?"

He laughed. "Indeed. Just as soon as I put the chest back behind bars."

***

Later on, Giles walked up his front path after seeing Dawn, Buffy and Xander off for an evening of more tourist fun. He wished them a good time, but for himself, all he wanted was a long hot shower and an early night. He felt more exhausted than he had in a long time, and his muscles ached from being so tense all afternoon since visiting his underground vault.

Frowning, he stopped halfway to the door and glared down at his leg. His limp was back. Squaring his shoulders and gritting his teeth in determination, Giles finished the walk, moving normally. He absently rubbed his hand on the front of his coat and reached for the doorknob.

Ethan opened the door before he could, a phenomenon that was becoming common as their bond developed. He smiled warmly at Giles and reached out for his case. "You look tired, dearheart."

Giles gratefully let him take it. "I feel tired."

Ethan stepped to the side to let Giles through and shut the door after him. "Megan's out with Giddy," he said, "and there's some kind of strange chicken casserole in the oven." Once they were into the living room, Ethan put Giles' case down and helped him take his coat off.

"Thank you," Giles said, heartfelt, turning and pulling Ethan close. He sighed as the embrace seemed to ease some of the body ache he had been feeling.

"Are you brewing up some bug?" Ethan asked, concerned. He pressed his lips against Giles' in a soft kiss, but then froze, before drawing back in a hurry and looking thoroughly alarmed. "Rupert, where the... what happened?"

"Happened?"

Giles could feel Ethan's magic passing through him as urgent hands moved over his body. Ethan's eyes were unfocused as his attention was concentrated elsewhere. "Something must have... Were you attacked?"

"No, of course not. Dawn and I were following new avenues of research. There was a sigil on the pouch you'd found, and we–"

"The pouch. Christ. You've been bloody touching it, you stupid git." Ethan seemed to be doing his very best to undress Giles now.

"I shielded," Giles protested, even as he let Ethan have his way with his clothes.

"Stupid, stupid man," Ethan muttered. He stopped mid-strip and started pulling Giles towards the stairs. "I can taste it on you."

"The pouch?"

"The Chaos!" They were halfway up the stairs when Ethan stopped to glare at Giles and asked in tones of outrage, "Are you limping?"

Bugger. "My leg's been bothering me since..."

"Bloody brilliant," Ethan declared, strongly sarcastic. "Well done. Top notch performance." He dragged Giles towards the bathroom.

"It was necessary," Giles said mildly, letting Ethan manhandle him. It was easier than protesting, and the bathroom and its shower were where he wanted to go anyway. "We have to find out exactly what the pouch is and what it's for."

"Not by touching it!" Having steered Giles into the bathroom, Ethan returned to stripping him, undoing his belt buckle with bad temper. "So it's in some Council vault then?"

"No. I wouldn't leave something that dangerous where others, no matter how apparently trustworthy, could get at it." Giles hesitated, realising he hadn't told Ethan about the secret vault. "I've got my own hiding place."

"Sit down," Ethan instructed, and while Giles perched on the lid of the loo, Ethan removed his shoes, socks, trousers and underwear. "So where is this hiding place? Or is that a secret allowed only to you and the two Summers' girls?"

"It's underground in some of the old subterranean tunnels. And Buffy doesn't know about it. I only took Dawn there because..." He sighed heavily, taking his glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. I just... I had a feeling, and I wasn't about to take that pouch out of the vault, so..."

Ethan stared at him and then took Giles' glasses away, putting them on the cistern. "Get in the shower," he said, and his voice was somewhere between withdrawn and cold. He began to undress himself.

Giles meekly obeyed, wondering if he owed Ethan an apology. He didn't think so, but he was willing to admit he was exhausted enough that his thought processes might be suspect.

By the time Ethan stepped in, Giles had the shower running at a good temperature. Ethan took soap and a sponge and began to wash Giles – gently, not letting his anger show in his movements, but Giles knew it was there nonetheless. Each stroke of the sponge also came with a throb of Ethan's magic for a deeper cleansing. He didn't speak at all.

Closing his eyes, Giles stood acquiescent under his lover's touch. Ethan's magic was soothing away some of the bitter ache that had settled in his bones since he'd touched the pouch, but that was only making him aware of how deep it had reached. "It feels like I can't get clean," he confessed haltingly.

Admitting a weakness wasn't easy for Giles, even when it was to Ethan, but he was beginning to realise that this wasn't the kind of thing he could fix himself.

Ethan looked up and what he seemed to see in Giles' expression transformed his own, his closed off frown becoming an open look of loving concern. "Oh, Rupert. What have you done to yourself?"

Ethan dropped what he was holding, the soap falling to the shower floor with a loud clunk. He moved his hands up to cup Giles' face, leaning in to kiss him. As Ethan's lips met his, Giles felt himself start to fill with Ethan's magic, like an empty vessel held under a tap.

Under that influence, the ache, the bitter taint that the pouch seemed to have left all over his soul seemed to gradually wash off, like dirt or blood streaking his body and going down the drain in a dark stream. This was what he'd done for Ethan after that terrible day on the Heath, and now Ethan was doing it for him.

Ethan kept kissing him, kept stroking and soothing, kept pulsing his magic into Giles for long after Giles felt clean. Finally, Giles pulled back with a sigh and rested his head against Ethan's shoulder, letting Ethan be the one in control for a moment longer. "Thank you," he murmured.

"How are you feeling now?" Ethan asked between soft kisses to the side of Giles' head. "Do you want to lie down?"

He did, but... "There's dinner. I shouldn't miss–"

"We can eat in bed." Giles felt Ethan's smile against the side of his face. "Would hardly be the first time."

"No," he admitted. "It wouldn't." He sighed again. "It sounds wonderful, but-" Ethan pulled back enough to give him a questioning look. "It feels... irresponsible." Even as he said it, Giles realised how idiotic it sounded.

Ethan's lips twisted in amusement. "Eating a chicken casserole in bed is irresponsible."

"Well, yes." Still, Giles couldn't keep his lips from twitching up at the corners.

"Because, of course, eating in bed is right up there with playing on railway lines and driving under the influence." Ethan's attempt to remain deadpan was failing rapidly.

"I probably should just give in gracefully now before I make more of a fool of myself, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, dearheart," Ethan said with a chuckle. "You really should." He kissed Giles on the lips. "Come on, let's get you out and dried."

Meekly, Giles stepped out and stood still, letting Ethan dry him. He felt... torn. Part of him soaked up the attention and care, but another part of him was insisting that he should be taking care of himself and his responsibilities.

As Ethan wrapped a towel around Giles' waist, he looked up at Giles and murmured, "Thank you," smiling gently.

"For what?"

"For, just this once, letting me look after you without complaint. It's rather nice." Ethan smile grew broader, warmer still. "Thank you."

That smile went a long way to silencing the dissenting voice. "It's... nice to have someone to look after me," Giles admitted softly.

Ethan wrapped his arms around Giles, holding him close. "I'm sorry I was upset to start with. It's just fear as I'm sure you know. I know you wouldn't have handled the pouch had you had any idea what would happen."

"I would've taken more precautions at least," Giles said ruefully.

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, literally biting his lip before putting a hand on the small on Giles' back. "Come on, dear. Bed and warming winter grub await."

Giles let Ethan steer him towards their bedroom. "Was that what it felt like for you?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"When the Chaos was in me after the attack?" Ethan checked. Giles nodded, and Ethan pulled a face. "I was filled with doom. It went far beyond pessimism. Self-hate too. I don't remember any physical effects though. Perhaps my body is inured to it?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe the previous attack has made me more physically susceptible," Giles mused, thinking of the flashbacks to the attack that had plagued him while touching the pouch. "I... remembered. What happened in the train."

He felt a violent shudder go through Ethan. who stopped by the bed and pulled Giles close in a reaction that seemed more instinctive than anything else. "Christ."

Giles wrapped his arms tightly around Ethan in turn. "It's over," he murmured, not sure which of them he was trying to comfort the most.

"It's not really, though, is it?" Ethan said very quietly against Giles' ear.

"That attack is. They took their best shot and hurt us, but we survived. I think we may even be stronger now as a result."

"Together." He felt Ethan nod. "I think together and working instinctively we are a force to rival most. Separate however, we may be weaker than ever before." It was clear Ethan had been thinking about this.

"Maybe," Giles acknowledged, bringing a hand up to slide his fingers through Ethan's hair as they talked. "But it's a trade-off I'm more than willing to make if it means I get to keep you."

Ethan smiled a little sadly and kissed him before pulling back. "Right. Into bed. I want you off that leg. Put your robe on too so you don't get cold." He began to quickly pull some clothes on.

"Yes, dear," Giles replied, trying to sound sincere and not teasing.

Ethan patted him on the arse. "Get warm and comfy, and I'll fetch the food." He waggled his finger at Giles, grinning. "Don't brood while I'm gone."

"I don't brood," Giles protested as he got into bed.

"Whatever you call it when you're silent and frowning then." Ethan bent over to kiss Giles on the forehead before leaving the room.

"So I'm supposed to keep talking when you're not here?" Giles called after him.

"Try singing," Ethan called back. "Something oppressively jolly. Christmas carols would be ideal!" Giles could hear Ethan chuckling as he trotted downstairs.

"He just likes making me feel like a complete wally," Giles muttered under his breath, but nonetheless began half-heartedly humming Good King Wenceslas. It wouldn't hurt him to humour Ethan a little, especially after the scare he must have had after Giles came home covered in dark Chaos.

Even if this did make him feel like a prat.

It wasn't long before Ethan reappeared, but by that point Giles' faint humming was something a lot closer to fully-fledged singing. Ethan stood in the doorway, carrying a loaded tray and grinning at him.

"What?" Giles said defensively.

Ethan made his way over to the bed. "Your singing always warms me. It really doesn't matter what you stretch your tonsils around." He put the tray over Giles' lap. There was a large and deep dish, full of a rich and savoury stew with dumplings, and a side plate of crusty bread. There were two 'sporks', so clearly they were going to be sharing.

"Some songs are more embarrassing than others, and some audiences." He picked up one of the sporks and tried some of the stew. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. "Is Megan back?"

Ethan snuggled into bed beside him and immediately stabbed into a dumpling. "She's working out in the study. Apparently chasing Giddy up hill and down dale was not exercise enough."

"Ah, the energy of a Slayer. I have to say, it's easier on old Watcher bones to have more than one so you can have them work out with each other."

Ethan looked askance at him. "You used to work out with Buffy?"

"Yes." Giles didn't think it was that unbelievable. "As have every Watcher and Slayer before us."

"Well, that tradition came to a crashing halt with me, I can assure you." Ethan broke up some bread and dipped it into the bowl, catching the drips with his other hand as he then drew it back to his mouth.

"There was a lot of padding involved usually," Giles continued absently, watching Ethan lick the drips of the stew's gravy off his hand. "Although granted, there were a lot of bruises as well."

Ethan paused as he seemed to realise he was being watched. He grinned cheekily. "Want me to feed you?"

Giles considered. It wasn't the type of thing he usually indulged in, at least not when he was the one being fed. but the part of him that had relished Ethan taking care of him in the bathroom was still being quite loud. Besides, this wouldn't be so much an invalid thing as something closer to a seduction, and Ethan seducing him he had no qualms about at all. Decision made, he handed the spork over with a smile.

Clearly surprised, but equally obviously delighted, Ethan took the implement and shuffled around a little to be in a better position for it. "Open wide, dear," he said with a chuckle as he spooned up some meat and broth.

"You mention anything about either an airplane or a choo-choo, and we're ending this," Giles warned before complying with the request.

That made Ethan giggle so much he had to pause with his hand over the tray until he could calm down. Then he carefully fed Giles the spork-ful. "Mmm, delicious," he said helpfully and leant in to lick at the corner of Giles' mouth. "Little messy there," he explained.

Giles chewed and swallowed, darting his tongue out to lick at the spot Ethan had licked. "Can't have that."

Ethan kept up a steady supply of casserole, and in between each mouthful, Giles received a kiss or a lick or some other pleasant morsel of affection. Ethan didn't forget to feed himself, of course; that would have been totally out of character, but he was clearly more interested in looking after Giles' needs. After a while, he said, "I think I may be developing a wonderful new perversion."

"Feeding me?" Giles asked, and Ethan nodded, breaking up some bread to start mopping up the last of the stew. Giles snorted. "Well, as long as you don't try to do it in front of people I need to be Head of the Council for, I think we might be able to work your newest perversion into our lives."

Ethan's happy grin was almost reward enough. He kissed Giles again, for a longer moment, and then held the gravy soaked bread by Giles' mouth. "I owe Mr Tesco a debt of gratitude, I think."

Giles chuckled and reached with his mouth for the piece of bread. "You could write him a letter."

"Dear Mr Tesco... or Mrs as I wouldn't want to be sexist. I would like to thank you and the staff at the Kensington branch of your fine store for the delicious chicken and wild mushroom casserole that I purchased today. It has set me on a path to a new form of deviancy, which promises to reach a quite delightful level of perversion. Yours appreciatively. E. Rayne, esquire."

"I'm sure they'll want to make you the basis of a new ad campaign," Giles teased.

The meal was finished. Ethan looked at the empty bowl sadly. "Cup of tea?"

Giles shook his head and set the tray aside. "Cup of you, maybe."

Ethan obligingly snuggled closer and began to kiss him. Giles soaked up the affection, but his body seemed slower to respond than it usually did to Ethan's attentions. Ethan pulled back. "Are you still feeling bad, dearheart?"

"Not bad, just not..." Giles trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed, "interested."

Ethan seemed to twitch a little at that. "Should I be worried?"

Giles kissed him. "The spirit is willing, love. The flesh seems to be still recovering from my Chaos exposure."

Ethan's slightly insecure expression dissolved into concern. "Are you in pain?" Giles felt a hand moving questioningly across his body, Ethan's magic gently probing inside.

"No pain," Giles softly assured him, covering Ethan's hand with his own. "You took care of all that earlier."

Nodding, Ethan settled back down. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not much to talk about really." He shifted to pull Ethan tight against his side, yearning for the closeness even if it wasn't any more than that. "There's a sigil on the pouch; we couldn't see it when the pouch was in the chest. I pulled it out, and Dawn copied down the sign."

"Hmm. How did Dawn cope in the presence of raw Chaos?" Ethan sounded more curious than concerned.

"Better than I did," Giles said wryly. "She said it felt... familiar."

"Did she touch it?" Ethan asked, a little sharply.

"No, of course not. But you've been in the same room with it; you can feel it even without touching it."

"Having her touch it might be a very bad idea, and not just for her."

Giles tilted his head to look at Ethan questioningly.

He got an ever so slightly sour look in return. "You're not going to get stroppy with me the way Xander did when I spoke about Dawn in terms of what she is when she's not being a young girl, are you?"

"No more than I would if you talked about Buffy in terms of being the Slayer," Giles replied. "Being the Key is part of what Dawn is."

"Xander nearly entered catatonic avoidance every time I said the word, 'Key'," Ethan grumbled. "Nonetheless, I think Dawn's significance both in general, and perhaps to us, shouldn't be underestimated."

"To us?" Giles asked. "Do you think that when Keri said 'Nothing is the key,' she was talking about Dawn?" The possible connection to Dawn had passed through Giles' mind at the time, but 'key' was such a common word in prophecies and riddles that he had dismissed it.

Ethan's tone was a little strained when he elaborated, and he stared at his hands. "There was a time, you know, when I studied matters of Chaos and Order almost as thoroughly as you involved yourself in your Watcher training. We Chaos mages had our own theory of the Big Bang. If the theory has any basis in reality, Dawn or something very much like her Key-form, was there. She was, if you like, the Logos. The word of God which introduced Chaos into perfect sterile Order and so introduced matter to the universe, and eventually, life."

Giles considered that, trying to look at it without thinking of the young woman he knew and cared for. What he knew the Key could do, what he'd seen her do, it wasn't incompatible with what Ethan was saying now. "It's... possible," he admitted, although a large part of him wanted to deny it. Dawn had been through enough.

Ethan traced the simple pattern on the duvet cover with his fingertip. "Well, this Key, or Word, or whatever you'd like to call it, was the tool used to open the door to Chaos originally. Both Chaos and Order in their pure forms are, of course, utterly antithetical to life. The Key allowed a successful mixing to be made, a balance found... Well, that's the legend anyway." Ethan sighed. "It feels very strange talking to you about it."

"Why?" Giles asked. "I haven't discouraged–"

"It's not something one discusses with..." Ethan winced, very obviously, and finished quietly with, "the uninitiated."

"Ah." Giles nodded, trying not to feel hurt by that. "So I'm an outsider then."

"We both are now," Ethan pointed out, glancing at him uneasily. "It isn't so much that I'm revealing the tricks of the trade. It's just that... Well, I've never spoken about those times with you, have I?"

"No, you haven't." And Giles hadn't asked, partly out of respect for Ethan's privacy and partly because he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Ethan pulled his legs up, forming a more protected posture. "For over twenty years of my life, I actively worshiped Chaos, Rupert... and sometimes, often in fact, it feels like those years never existed. As if we went straight from our youth together, to now, with little bar some unpleasantness with the American military in between."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" Giles asked softly. For him, too much had happened in the time that they were apart for him to feel the same way, especially the last ten years.

"I've no idea," Ethan answered bleakly. "I did a lot that... that may come back to haunt me. Well, us."

"I've never been under any illusions that you were being an angel during those decades."

"There was no you. It didn't matter what I did. I was numb and trying to feel." Ethan turned on the bed and gazed unhappily at Giles. "I hurt a lot of people."

This was why he had never asked; Giles didn't know if he should feel horrified at Ethan's actions during that time, or guilty because his presence could have stopped it. Mostly he ended up just feeling uncomfortable, but if Ethan needed to talk about it, Giles would swallow his discomfort and listen. Wordlessly, he reached out and brushed the back of his hand against Ethan's cheek, a gesture of reassurance that he was there and not leaving.

Ethan looked down. "I don't even know if I should feel guilty or not," he admitted.

"I don't think that's something you decide. You either do or you don't." Giles dropped his hands down to close over Ethan's and gently tugged him closer so he could wrap his arms around him. If they were going to have this conversation, this was the way he wanted to have it.

Ethan let himself be manoeuvred and leant heavily against Giles. "I don't think I do feel guilty as those things... those memories... " He ran a nervous hand over Giles' chest. "They don't feel real."

"Perhaps," Giles said slowly, speaking as he thought, "that has something to do with you being free of Chaos' influence now?"

Ethan snorted, the sound somehow disparaging. "I think it has more to do with how I feel when I'm not with you." And that made Giles feel uncomfortable for an entirely different reason.

He loved and needed Ethan, certainly, but he sometimes thought that Ethan needed him more. After all, Giles had had other people in his life who'd cared about him – had even had another love - and had managed to cope and function without Ethan, even if there had been part of himself that he'd locked down and cut off. All Ethan had ever had was him, his Ripper. Giles worried sometimes that he wouldn't be able to fulfil that much need for him.

Ethan was silent for a while, but Giles could feel a growing tension in his lover's body. "You're with me now," he said softly, trying to put his worry aside and soothe Ethan.

"Well, anyway," Ethan said suddenly, his voice brittle, "I think Dawn's important to this destiny of ours, and I don't think it's coincidence that she's here in England, right now."

Giles accepted that, trusting Ethan's instincts. "We weren't able to find much information about the Key when we were looking for it a few years ago, but I'll let you see what we did find."

"Thank you. Do I get to see your secret hidey-hole too?"

"If you want."

"Hidden deep somewhere in London's tunnels that you walked through presumably with no protection." Ethan's tone was barbed.

A flicker of annoyance went through Giles at that. "The whole definition of secret is no one knowing where it is."

"So your promise to keep yourself safe only lasts until it's inconvenient to keep it."

"I took care that I wasn't followed, and the fact that it is secret would mean no one could anticipate where I was going." He tried to keep his voice even and calm, but it wasn't easy.

"No one not, say, using magic, I do agree. Which makes it a shame really that our enemies are Chaos mages." The tone was now closer to vicious.

"I'm perfectly capable of shielding and covering my tracks. Are you really so concerned about this, or are you just trying to push me away?"

Ethan pulled himself out of Giles' arms, wriggling around to face him, an angry retort very obviously on the way from brain to mouth, but something stopped him talking. He looked down, and Giles could feel Ethan's body sag back against him.

Giles pulled Ethan close against him again, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "You can't, you know," he said conversationally. "Push me away."

"You don't know that," Ethan said, almost whispering. "You don't know what I've done."

"It doesn't matter."

There was a brief, dark and humourless laugh. "You've changed, Rupert."

"So have you." He pressed a kiss to Ethan's temple. "I watched you put yourself through a lot of pain and misery to change. That means a lot."

Ethan didn't answer. Eventually he said, "You should rest."

"I won't let you pull away, either, love," Giles said softly, affectionately.

That won him a more genuine sounding chuckle. "Nonetheless, you should rest."

"I'm lying in bed, lounging with my lover. There's not much that's more restful than that."

"Sleep?" Ethan suggested, and Giles felt him smile against his shoulder.

"What if I said I wasn't tired?" Giles asked, hiding a smile of his own.

"Does that mean I can kiss you now?" Ethan's hand on Giles chest released a tiny spark of magic; just enough to make the muscle underneath twitch slightly.

Turning and moving close enough that he could feel Ethan's breath, Giles said, "If I haven't made it clear before, let me do so now. You never have to ask me that as you always have permission to kiss me."

Ethan grinned. "I'll remember that next time you're in a big Council meeting, shall I?" he teased, before closing the short distance to kiss Giles.


	10. Chapter 10

"We're claiming this room in the name of superior lighting, dearheart. You can either stay and embarrass Megan or do your homework elsewhere." Ethan grinned at Rupert from the doorway to the study, a cup of tea in hand.

Rupert looked up from the books and papers he had spread out over his desk, blinking in such a way that Ethan knew he'd been immersed completely in his research to the exclusion of everything else.

Megan shifted a little nervously beside Ethan, the carrier bags from their shopping trip rustling in her grip. "We can do it somewhere else if you're busy," she told Rupert.

"No, we can't," Ethan argued and pushed her gently inside the room. "Go and sit at the table, sweetheart." He walked over to the French windows and drew the curtains closed. It had grown dark outside without, apparently, Rupert noticing. "This is the only room with bright lighting bar the bathroom, and I'm not sitting in there for an hour or more."

Rupert blinked again and seemed to get his brain back in synch with reality. "That's quite all right, Megan," he said, smiling at the girl. "I can take this into the living room." He quickly closed and stacked a couple of the books he'd had open and, adding a pad full of notes in his distinctive scrawl to the pile, he stood up and headed for the door.

Ethan watched his husband leave the room and wondered what work it was that had Rupert so consumed. He made a mental note to find out later, but for now his attention had to be all for his Slayer. She was eighteen today, and his task was to play fairy godmother and turn pumpkins into carriages.

Megan was looking after Rupert. "I hope we didn't make him lose his place."

"He'll find it again." Ethan herded her over to the table. "Sit down and get comfy while I sort out the lights."

She sat down and watched him with wide eyes as he angled the lamps towards her. "Putting me in the spotlight?" she asked with a giggle.

"That's right," Ethan agreed as he moved a side table in to stand a standard lamp upon. "It's what coming of age birthdays are all about, surely? Why don't you go through all the stuff we bought and pick out things that particularly speak to you for tonight."

Megan rummaged through the bag and picked out a few things in shades of blue and purple. "Is this okay?"

He tried not to let his cringe show. "No, dear. We want you to look elegant and refined, not like your average gothic tart on the street corner."

"Oh." She handed the bag over to him. "Maybe I should just leave it up to you then?"

She sounded so meek; Ethan felt pained that he'd criticised her choice. He didn't let his artistic side out much these days, hardly at all in fact, but he had, as the phrase went, a gay man's sense of colour and style. The stereotype was nonsense, of course, but he didn't disprove the rule. He was confident in his opinions and decisions regarding what was right for Megan, but he truly hadn't meant to undermine her confidence.

"The colder shades are good for day-to-day wear," he told her. "It's just that we've spent a lot of time and money having those highlights put into your hair today, and it would be wise to make the most of them with warmer, more natural shades."

Megan frowned, looking in one of the bags again, then glanced up at Ethan hopefully. "Show me?"

Ethan emptied the various bags carefully on the table. "This top," he said, holding up a silk blouse the colour of old ivory. "It matches one of the shades in your hair and will therefore accentuate them. It also flatters your skin tone perfectly."

She reached out and touched the blouse with a smile. "Feels nice too, but it isn't too... plain?"

"Don't confuse simplicity with tedium, dear," he told her. "You've heard the phrase concerning gilding the lily?"

"Yeah, just never saw myself as a lily."

"You're beautiful, Megan," he said, simply honest. "You just don't know it." Ethan quickly sorted all the stuff on the table, getting the clothing safely out of the way. He handed her a hair tie. "Now, we need that expensive hair-do off your face."

Megan quickly pulled her hair back into a simple ponytail, then looked expectantly at Ethan, eyes bright with anticipation.

"At the risk of sounding like a camp old theatre queen, one must always maintain a proper skin care regime after one starts using cosmetics." He rummaged around in their purchases and found the trio of stylish white plastic bottles and the bag of cotton wool balls. "First, the cleanser. You can do this yourself." He passed her bottle number one and the cotton wool.

"My mother would have a cow if she saw me doing this," Megan remarked as she began to cleanse her face. "She'd probably have a whole herd if she knew where I was going tonight."

"Your mother is clearly suffering from a terminal lack of having fun," Ethan said acidly. "Have you heard from them at all with birthday wishes?"

"She sent a card with money."

Ethan sighed. "Maybe they'll call." He knew they wouldn't though, unless it was to berate Megan. Some parents had no right to the name.

Megan shrugged. "I doubt it. She says it's too difficult to figure out the time difference."

He knew he was frowning at her and made himself stop. He seemed to feel every slight shown to Megan by her parents as if they had insulted him personally. "Pay particular attention to the T-zone," he said, using his own piece of cleanser soaked cotton wool to show her.

"How did you learn to do this?" Megan asked curiously. "The whole makeup gig?"

Ethan chuckled. "I always liked to play with makeup, although as a child, it was more war paint than beautification. Then one of those old theatre queens I just mentioned showed me the basics. After that, I taught myself. Toner now." Bottle number two was passed over.

"Did you... How did you decide you wanted to... do it properly?"

"Well, it was hardly a career choice. I just liked wearing it and didn't want to look like a clown. Of course, there were those who said I still did, but ask Rupert one day how he thought I looked then."

"You just want to hear him gush about you," Megan said with a knowing smile. "And you know he will."

He smiled. "And so he should. I was very pretty back then. Much like you in some ways – tall and thin with good bone structure and enviable hair. I wasted my looks on dissolute living. I'm sure you'll look after yours more efficiently."

"You say that like you're a troll or something now."

"Just an old man," he said and moved his chair closer. He used a tissue to dab any spare toner away and began to apply a light moisturiser.

"Not old," Megan countered. "Experienced, maybe."

Megan's skin tone was good apart from the freckles, which Ethan rather liked and didn't want to cover up. So instead of a heavy foundation, he was using a tinted moisturiser, which did little more than provide a surface to build on. "I can see the number fifty not at all far off, you know."

"I know people my age are supposed to think that fifty's ancient, but I look at you and Giles, and it doesn't seem that old at all."

He smiled at her fondly. "Do feel free to repeat that as often as you like. Close your eyes now."

"Old people don't usually wake up other people in the house with their morning... activities," Megan said with just a hint of teasing as she obeyed.

"You're not the only one who has to exercise daily, you know," he told her, completely deadpan.

"Oh, was that what you were doing?"

"Aerobic exercise is very good for the heart, I'm told." Megan's eyebrows had been professionally neatened earlier, Ethan having treated her to some pampering in a beautician's salon. He'd treated himself at the same time, which had been rather pleasant actually. But he gave her eyebrows another careful look now and removed a couple of strays with quick movements of the tweezers.

"You're good at that," Megan complimented. "Better than the lady at the shop."

"Thank you." He opened a packet of applicator brushes and the eyeshadow compacts he'd selected for tonight. As he applied the main colour to the whole of both lids, he said, "Rupert allowed me to do this to him once."

Megan startled at that, but managed to remember to keep her eyes closed. "Really?"

"On my birthday, a long, long time ago."

"Are there pictures?"

"There were once," Ethan said sadly, carefully applying a darker accentuating shadow. "Some very dodgy Polaroids. I lost them, together with everything else I valued from that time, many years ago and in unpleasant circumstances."

"I'm sorry." She was quiet for a moment then suggested, "Maybe you can get him to let you do it again?"

The idea made him chuckle. "Glamour and glitter are for young faces, my dear. Rupert looks just fine the way he is." The memories of the day Ripper had let Ethan make him up were still powerfully erotic, even now, but that wasn't who they were anymore.

"So do you, but I've seen you wear makeup still."

"Only once and only very little and look where that ended up." He knew his tone had turned sour at the thought of the night Francesca's lackey had secretly filmed Rupert and himself. He patted her shoulder in reassurance.

"Will you wear some tonight?" Megan asked. "For me?"

He shook his head. "Tonight isn't about me."

"No, it's my birthday, and I want to see you all decked out."

"I'll wear something nice," he promised, applying artful smudges of a soft brown kohl close to her outer lashes.

"At least wear some eyeliner?" she begged prettily.

Sighing exaggeratedly, he said, "You're a wicked girl, but as it's your birthday, I suppose you'll be getting your own way." He thought he might be able to get away with perhaps a touch of bronzer on his cheekbones too.

"Thank you," Megan said softly, smiling.

A spot of the highlighter pencil in the corner of her eyes and a light brushing of a very expensive mascara, and then her eyes were done. "Do you want to see yourself now, or wait until I've finished?"

She hesitated, considering. "I think I want to wait and see the whole thing."

"Sensible child." Ethan got together the tools for one of his favourite bits, face sculpting: blusher and bronzer, highlighting and shading to subtly accentuate naturally fine bone structure. "Am I allowed to play with your hair a bit after you're dressed? I'm no stylist, but there's something I'd like to try."

Megan nodded. "I put myself fully in your hands."

"Again, commendable." He grinned. "So tell me about this wonderful girl whom you intend to meet tonight. What does she look like?"

Megan gave a half-shrug, although she was careful to hold her head still. "I don't know. Looks don't really matter that much to me. I just want someone I can connect with. Someone with humour and kindness in their eyes."

That sounded like Rupert to Ethan, like Rupert on that night Ethan first saw his face. "When you dream, you must see someone, even if the picture's blurry," he told her. He knew it was unlikely to be for her the way it had been for him, but still, she had to have daydreams.

"I haven't wanted to limit my possibilities by looking for something specific that doesn't really matter in the long run. But..." Megan hesitated.

"But," he prompted, smiling.

"Dark hair," she said. "And dark eyes. Lots of curves. But that's just... surface."

"Yes," he agreed. "It is. But have you ever considered that we are attracted to certain physical types for a reason? I'm not saying we are, you understand. I've no idea. It's just something I've wondered about."

"Were you always attracted to people who looked like Giles?" Megan asked curiously.

He frowned, trying to think back. "I'm not sure. I was young when we met, and I'd been waiting for him. Certainly, after he left, I was attracted only to men who reminded me in one way or another of Ripper. Before we met? I really can't remember. There had been boys, and men, before him, but I can't recall a single face."

Megan smiled at him, quite sappily. "That's so romantic."

His inner cynic was surprisingly quiet as he grinned back and said, "Isn't it?" After some more rummaging, he told her. "I'm about to do your lips, so say anything you want to say now before I start."

"Do you think... if Giles had looked different, would you still have been attracted to him back when you first met?"

That made him laugh. "Yes, sweetheart. Now relax your lips." As he painted, he explained a little. "Rupert and I, it seems, were pre-destined. So I have to assume that he could look like Barbara Cartland, and I'd still adore him."

Megan giggled, desperately trying not to move her lips as she did so.

***

"Do you think it's possible to harvest Slayer energy?" Ethan asked Rupert. They were sitting at a table as far away from the loudspeakers as they could get, drinking extortionately priced and tasteless lager while their Slayer tackled some pretty intensive dance moves with the grace and efficiency with which Ethan had seen her slay vampires.

"Oh, I don't know if it's Slayer energy," Rupert replied, glancing away from watching Megan to give Ethan a slight smile. "I seem to recall you having the same kind of energy when we were her age."

They were sitting very close, partly to facilitate conversation over the loud music, but mostly because they could do so here without attracting stares or comments. Having said that, their age was drawing inevitable attention. As gay clubs went, this one had a decidedly young crowd.

Ethan kissed Rupert on the cheek in gratitude for the comment, but said, "I don't feel like dancing tonight."

Sadness flashed through Rupert's eyes at that, but all he did was ask, "Don't want to show the children how it's done?"

"The music's wrong for my style," Ethan lied. His 'style' could adjust to any rhythm, but he found it was impossible to forget what had happened the last time they'd gone dancing.

Rupert, of course, didn't buy it for a second. "Not to pull out tired old clichés, but there is some wisdom in the old saying about getting back on the horse."

"I've lost my taste for the saddle," Ethan told him, hoping to end the topic with his sour tone. His gaze wandered across the dance floor. "Oh. Look, Rupert! She's dancing with someone."

Rupert glanced over, his smile becoming wider and more genuine. "Good for her."

Ethan's grin was also very genuine. Megan's dance partner was brunette and curvy, Ethan couldn't help but notice. This was going swimmingly. "I'm really quite vicariously excited."

"Really, I couldn't tell," Rupert replied deadpan, his hand slipping under the table and onto Ethan's inner thigh.

Ethan's reaction to that was very complicated. On the one hand, Rupert was touching him up in public, something that never failed to strongly arouse Ethan. On the other hand, he didn't want to be turned on currently. Not here. Not after what happened last time. He frowned and looked down at his pint.

Rupert didn't move his hand away. "Do you want to give Francesca Travers the victory of having actually changed our behaviour because of what she did?"

"Of course not." Ethan placed his own hand on top of Rupert's and squeezed. "It's not the videoing, anyway. It's what happened after we left the club, which we had to do early due to my lack of self-control."

"I don't think that mage would have got bored and wandered off if we'd been in the club longer," Rupert pointed out gently.

"I wish I could be sure of that, although I suppose it does make more sense." Suddenly, Ethan's internal conflict seemed ludicrous to him. He looked up at Rupert and laughed. "Since when have I been the one urging caution and you been the foolhardy seducer?"

Rupert smiled at him in that way that had always been for Ethan only. "Dance with me?" he asked simply.

Ethan hesitated a little longer, although he knew he was inevitably going to say 'yes'. He could never resist pleasing Rupert for long. "Promise me you won't let me take control?"

"I'm hardly going to let you shag me on the dance floor when we have Megan with us."

Which was a good point, but for some reason the idea of not only him shagging Rupert, for only the third time ever, but doing it in public, seemed impossibly erotic. "Oh God," Ethan moaned. "Keep me in control. Please."

Rupert smiled and lifted Ethan's hand to his lips. "I won't let you fall, love. I promise."

He stared at Rupert for a few seconds, feeling great affection, then stood. "Right then. I'm in your hands, dearheart."

"Some parts of you will have to wait until we get home to be in my hands," Rupert replied with a wicked grin as they made their way to the dance floor.

Ethan felt so much better with Rupert's promise keeping him safe. He could relax and not have to worry about his own actions as Rupert would stop him doing anything unwise. And Rupert's last words about waiting now seemed like a delicious challenge. He was already moving to the music before Rupert even found them a place to stand.

Rupert laughed, resting his hands on Ethan's hips as Ethan moved. "Not your style?" he teased, Ethan as much reading his lips as hearing him.

"Not at all," Ethan confirmed, gyrating closer to kiss Rupert as he danced.

Rupert leant forward to speak by Ethan's ear. "Have I mentioned how... nostalgic seeing you with that makeup on is?"

"It's a present for Megan," Ethan confessed. "It seemed important to her." He'd kept it very discreet; the last thing he wanted was to look like one of those tired old Hollywood starlets who'd had several face lifts too many and on whose old skin makeup tended to sit like colour painted on a china doll's cracked face.

"I like it," Rupert told him, kissing him. "Perhaps even better than what you used to wear. This isn't so much hiding behind it as making you more... you."

Sometimes it was truly hard to imagine a way in which Rupert could be any more perfect. Ethan danced closer still, making sure their bodies rubbed together as he moved. His hands were holding Rupert's head, fingers stroking through hair as he gazed into his husband's eyes.

"Perhaps mostly because I can kiss you without messing it up the way you have it now," Rupert teased, leaning in to do so.

When he finally drew back from the kiss, Ethan found they had moved around slightly on the dance floor, and he could now spy Megan from where he stood, both of their relative heights giving him an advantage. "She's still with that brown-haired girl," he told Rupert happily.

Rupert smiled. "Brunettes can be quite captivating, I've found."

Ethan kissed Rupert again, a long and lingering affair, but every once in a while he would open his eyes to check on his Slayer. Suddenly, he exclaimed into Rupert's mouth before drawing back a short way. "She kissed her!"

"What?" Rupert started to turn around to look.

Ethan stopped him quickly. "Don't. She'll notice and get all embarrassed." He did a happy little cha cha cha against Rupert. "Our little girl's gonna get–" He stopped himself in time, knowing Rupert wouldn't see things the way he did. "Another kiss!"

Rupert tried to turn them around so he could see as well, which resulted in a very quick circle being turned, as Ethan didn't want to give up his viewpoint. "Ethan..."

"Rupert," Ethan murmured lovingly as if Rupert had meant affection and not censure. He moved his hands down to cup and squeeze Rupert's arse, hoping to distract him from turning again, and dipped in to lick and nibble at his neck.

"The girl better not be doing this to Megan," Rupert said darkly.

Ethan thought about arguing. If necking was what Megan wanted, as far as Ethan was concerned, she should have it. But there was no point in upsetting Rupert. "They're just dancing again now. Relax. Enjoy the dance you said you wanted."

"I am," Rupert insisted. He smiled at Ethan. "I always enjoy dancing with you."

As nothing exciting was happening with Megan for now, Ethan concentrated more on his other project, which was getting Rupert aroused enough to touch certain parts of Ethan while they were still here. It was important not to rush things; he licked up Rupert's neck and began to nibble at his ear lobe.

Rupert chuckled, the sound a bit deeper than normal. "Didn't we feed you enough supper?"

"Perhaps not enough protein." Ethan giggled. Half his attention was focused on his magical awareness of Rupert's body and the patterns of its arousal. He wasn't tweaking, just watching the natural ebbs and flows and the responses to the things he was doing to Rupert's neck and arse, seeing what worked. Moving to the slow heavy beat of the current track, Ethan rocked his hips against Rupert to add another notch of interest.

Rupert laughed again. "I see you've got over your reticence."

Ethan scraped his teeth down Rupert's neck in reply then starting to gnaw gently where neck met shoulder. Everything he did, whether it was his biting teeth, squeezing hands or gyrating hips, was all done in perfect counterpoint to the music.

"You are far too good at his," Rupert murmured, his own hands sliding down to cup Ethan's arse as they moved.

That made him smile. "Can there be 'too good'?" he asked. "Really?"

"Sometimes. When I have to be the responsible one."

"You promised," Ethan reminded him, before starting to suck on his neck.

"And you're doing your best to test my promise, I see." It was said with affection and a bit of humour.

"Is it working?" Ethan asked innocently, knowing perfectly well that it was. His mouth had left a small mark on Rupert's neck. He was contemplating making something a little less ephemeral. He hadn't bitten Rupert in that way in a very long time.

"You'll know that when I drag you out of here early."

"We can't leave Megan behind." Ethan bent his head again and sealed his mouth over the side of Rupert's neck, sucking hard.

A cross between a groan and a growl rumbled in Rupert's chest. "You're not making it easy."

No, he wasn't, and it was time to step up the pace before Rupert put a stop to his fun. Using his teeth now to break the blood vessels below the surface of the skin, Ethan used Rupert's circulatory system to send sparkling magic cascading throughout Rupert's body. It pulsed in time with the music.

Rupert growled loudly and after several seconds, pushed Ethan away from him. "Behave," he ordered, voice still a growl.

Ethan smirked seductively at him from under his brow. The music was too loud to do anything but shout unless they were close together, so instead he thought, _'You know, I really don't want to,'_ at Rupert.

 _'But you will,'_ Rupert thought back. _'Or I won't shag you when we get home.'_

And the trouble was, when Rupert said things like that, he meant them.

Admitting defeat for the time being, Ethan began to dance again where he was, his gaze moving restlessly across the crowd, searching for Megan. To start with he couldn't spot her, and the beginnings of worry stirred within him. Then, with the help of a little pattern awareness, he spotted her against the far wall. Being kissed. Hard.

He let his gaze wander on as if he'd seen nothing. The last thing Megan needed was an angry Rupert interrupting her first ever decent snog.

He found himself gazing at a young, rather muscular man – hardly more than a boy - who was staring at Ethan as if he'd lost a fuck buddy and found a sugar daddy. Amused, Ethan smiled at him and winked slowly.

Rupert's voice was back in his head again. _'And what are you going to do with him if you reel him in?_ '

 _'Drop him back and exaggerate his size when I tell the story afterwards?'_ Ethan giggled, his gaze returning to Rupert, who slid his arms around Ethan's waist again and glared over at the boy, menacingly enough to send him looking for safer pastures.

Chuckling, Ethan danced very close to Rupert again. "You've got a smashing lovebite," he told him, licking it.

"Behave," Rupert reminded him.

Ethan pulled back enough to give him a mock-glare. "So licking's not allowed now?"

"It's what the licking tends to lead to."

He pouted. "Can we sit down then please? You're taking all the fun out of dancing."

Rupert grinned at him and then turned him around, placing his hands on Ethan's hips, pressing up against him from behind. "Dance," he murmured up against Ethan's ear.

Oh. Now this was more like it. Ethan did exactly as he was bid, swaying his hips and rubbing backwards against Rupert. He raised his arms in the air and let the music lead him.

"So where has our Megan got to?" Rupert asked, his breath warm against Ethan's ear.

He couldn't see her anymore, but he'd kept tabs on her with his other senses. She was still against the wall. Still, presumably, being kissed. Or perhaps she was the aggressor now as Ethan was sure that all Megan needed was confidence. "She's having a great birthday," he told Rupert.

"Good," Rupert replied. "Just as long as she doesn't get in over her head."

"I'm watching. She's doing just fine."


	11. Chapter 11

Giles pored over the rather astonishingly thick stack of files that Pamela had brought into his office. "All of this activity's been in the last week?" he asked, looking up at his assistant.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Pamela said. "It is rather unusual. Perhaps there's been some sunspot activity? That can sometimes provoke such fluxes, I believe."

"That's generally because the things that can have a hand in creating sunspots also tend to be a staple of the stuff of apocalyptic prophecy." He sighed and leant back in his chair, taking his glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. It hadn't even been a year since the last apocalypse; he'd hoped that closing the Hellmouth would have meant there would be a longer gap between impending ends of the world.

"Oh dear." Pamela frowned. "Should we issue a general alert?"

Sighing again, Giles sat up and put his glasses back on. "No, not yet, but we should definitely get the research department to sift through all of these events, categorising and looking for a pattern. Also, have them cross-reference those results with the prophecy archive, see if anything matches up."

"I'll get onto that right away," she said efficiently, but then hesitated. "Some of it couldn't be related to your prophecy, could it?"

Giles' initial, instinctive reaction was 'no', but realistically he couldn't dismiss the idea quite that easily. "It's possible," he admitted grudgingly.

"Does the Prophecy Archive have a copy of it, or would you rather we worked on that one by ourselves?"

"We'll handle it," Giles replied. He wasn't quite sure why, but he was loathe to tell too many people about what Keri had set out as a path for Ethan and himself.

"Of course, sir. I'll set up a parallel file for our own investigations, cross-referencing with the private file we're already maintaining on your Prophecy. I'll make sure Research and Theory keep us abreast on a daily basis of any progress or developments." She hesitated briefly again and then pulled out a couple of the case folders. "If I may, sir, you may want to make sure you peruse these two. They seem particularly... chaotic."

Giles gave his assistant a hard look and then opened and quickly scanned the two cases that Pamela had pointed out. Both were local, not only to England, but to London as well. And both of them –- one, a sudden infestation of fairy-like creatures in Hyde Park terrorising the local wildlife, and the other, nightwatch security guards being attacked by 'living' waxworks at Madame Tussaud's -– most certainly had the kind of flavour Giles would attribute to Chaos.

They felt like something that Ethan would have instigated in the past.

"Would you like anyone in particular sent out to investigate those, Mr Giles?"

"No, I think we'll handle these ourselves," Giles answered, already making plans. Ethan and Megan could investigate one, while he and Buffy took the other.

"Is there anything else you need, sir, before I head off to R&T?" Pamela absently neatened the various folders on Giles' desk. It was almost as if she didn't even know she was doing it.

Giles hid his amusement at the compulsive tidying. "I think that's everything for now, Pamela, thank you."

As Pamela turned to go, the door opened without an announcing knock, which didn't bother Giles because he knew perfectly well who it was. Indeed, he had felt Ethan approaching.

"Hello, Ethan." Pamela smiled as she walked passed him, having long since been trained out of calling him 'Mr Rayne'.

"Hello, Pammy." He grinned. "I brought that video in for you."

"I, er, oh." Pamela flushed a shade of red even Giles could see from his desk, and she hurried out with a muttered, "Thank you." Ethan giggled as the door shut.

"Do I even want to know?" Giles asked.

"She seems to have developed an interest in gay porn from somewhere," Ethan told him, with just the slightest hint of humour hovering about his lips. He walked behind the desk and bent to kiss Giles.

Giles kissed Ethan back and then offered drily, "I wonder where she could have got that from."

Ethan sniggered, straightening up, and then perched on the edge of Giles' desk. "Until she admits she listened to us, I'm going to keep supplying such material. I know she did as I caught her out with an unexpected reference to desk polishing. She went as red as you just saw her. I think she has it all on one of those little tapes somewhere, you know."

"Dear lord, I hope not," Giles muttered under his breath.

"Well, you know how very efficient she is." Ethan seemed to find the whole affair a source of prolonged amusement. "You seem to be busy, dearheart. Should I clear off and make myself useful someplace else?"

"Actually, I was about to go look for you," Giles said, handing Ethan the two files. "What do you make of these?"

Ethan flicked through both files, his lips forming his characteristic pout of concentration. After a little while, he looked up. "The waxworks are either a poltergeist or magic. The 'fairies' could be anything."

Magic or poltergeists were things that Giles felt confident in handling. "Right then. I'll take the waxworks, and you can have the fairies." He smiled faintly. "Let the expert take a closer look."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "From anyone else, dearheart, I'd take exception to that."

"What?" Giles blinked as he realised how Ethan had interpreted what he'd said. "I meant," he said with a wider smile, "that this feels much like the kind of stunt that you used to come up with."

"Oh," Ethan reared back slightly, looking genuinely surprised. "Trickster spirits running amok in Hyde Park. Yes, I suppose you're right. The walking waxworks too, now that I think of it. Ah, those were the days." The little smile and unfocused eyes suggested fond reminiscing.

"Do you miss it?" Giles asked curiously.

The eyes snapped back into focus. "Of course not."

"You used to be better at lying to me."

Ethan frowned. "I was footloose and conscience-free then; things are different now. Rupert, I'd never want to go back."

"I know." Giles reached out and rested a hand on Ethan's thigh. "I'm not worried about you suddenly deciding to go back into the candy business again."

"I do miss the challenge of such things," Ethan admitted. "But that's all."

"Well, then. Hopefully the challenge of figuring out someone else's attempt at such things will be recompense enough."

Ethan did not exactly look filled with enthusiasm. "Do you really imagine Leonardo would have been happy as a mere art critic?" he asked. But he stood, keeping hold of the Hyde Park folder. "I'm taking Megan and Giddy, I presume?"

"Unless you'd prefer to take Buffy?" Giles asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ethan didn't even bother to answer that, but he leant down again to kiss Giles, long and tenderly. "Take care at Tussaud's," he murmured when he pulled back again.

Giles smiled at him and said softly, "I will. You watch out for those fairies as well."

Ethan chuckled as he headed for the door. "I will, but I don't think I'll be in much danger unless I'm a duck."

"They could branch out and go for foxes as well."

"I'll take care," Ethan promised, and then he was gone.

***

"Well..." Ethan looked at the small display in front of him with a feeling somewhere between amusement and distaste. "Quackers here won't be doing whatever it was he did to offend again in a hurry."

"Ew," Megan said, wrinkling her nose. "That's just... ew."

Ethan poked gingerly with a twig at the ex-duck nailed to the signpost. "I can't decide whether I'm looking at the work of a very small and very thorough psychopath, or the latest entry for this year's Turner Prize."

Gwydion whined, straining at the leash held in Megan's capable hands, trying to get at the alarmingly arranged mess of flesh and feathers. Megan knelt, taking hold of Gwydion's collar and trying to calm the dog down. "Someone's seriously disturbed, that's for sure. I mean, ducks? What's there to hold a grudge against?"

"There was apparently a canine victim as well, earlier in the week. A Chihuahua," Ethan told her, levering the remains from the signpost. They fell into the open plastic bag with a wet slithering noise. "Some old dear was very upset, I'm told."

"No wonder." Megan's hand went from holding onto Gwydion's collar to sliding around the puppy protectively. "People get very attached to dogs."

"Oh, whatever is behind this miniature terrorism of Hyde Park, whether it really is something at least vaguely fairy-like or something more mundanely awful, I can promise you, Megan, they'll not be hurting Giddy." Ethan tied up the bag and disposed of it in the nearest litterbin. There was no point in keeping the remains. His pattern senses had revealed that it was exactly what it looked like, a drake someone had turned into a surreal jigsaw, at least partially while the bird was still alive.

He crouched down in front of the wolfhound and looked into his eyes. "I know I'm not your master, but you know Rupert would want you to obey me, eh, Gwydion?"

Gwydion stared back solemnly then moved to lick Ethan's cheek.

"Good boy," Ethan said approvingly. "Now I want you to take us to the thing or things that made the artistic canard tartare. You've had a good sniff around. Can you take us there?" Rupert seemed to be able to speak to the dog like this and be understood, so Ethan was damned if he was going to talk otherwise himself.

For a long moment, Gwydion continued to stare at Ethan, until he began to doubt that he actually was communicating with the dog at all, but then Gwydion moved to sniff at the base of the park signpost where the duck had been hung. After a few seconds to get the scent, the pup was tugging on his leash.

"Should I let him go?" Megan asked, looking from the dog to Ethan and back again.

"No, but run with him," Ethan replied. "Not too fast though. I need to be with you, and I can't reach Wolfhound speed, let alone Slayer speed."

Megan threw him a quick grin. "Don't worry. We won't lose you." Then she let Gwydion have his head and took off after the excited puppy.

Ethan followed, refusing to allow himself to run faster than a mild trot. He might need his energies for other things. Even this level of exercise was warming him up, however. He was well wrapped up from the winter's chill, his body having never really adjusted back to a temperate climate after years in California and then Nevada. Or maybe it was just his age, which was a depressing thought.

They left the area of the upper park and headed towards the Serpentine, the small lake which was a major feature of Hyde Park and from whence the dear departed had undoubtedly come.

Megan did an expert job of holding Gwydion in check. Gwydion, for his part, after the second or third time she pulled him back, slowed down somewhat and began to divide his time between sniffing out the trail and glancing over his shoulder at the humans following him.

The sedate chase took them to one end of the pond and then behind a café called 'The Dell', rather suitably. There was a closed off area beyond which was undoubtedly the tradesman entrance to the establishment. Gwydion barked once at the gate in the corrugated iron fencing and then subsided.

"Pull him back a little way," Ethan told Megan as he took his gloves off and rested his bare hands on the cold metal.

Megan did as she was bidden, kneeling again to put an arm around Gwydion as they both watched what Ethan was doing. "Find anything?"

Ethan was frowning. "There's something in there, yes." He wasn't sure what though. There was a taint of Chaos, certainly, but also something much stronger, something... odd. Something that tasted off in an entirely different way. He turned and looked at his Slayer, his brow creasing further. "I need your hands free to fight."

"Right." Megan put the leash under a stone, more symbolic than actual restraint, and sternly told Gwydion, "Stay." Then she was up and moving to a position just behind Ethan, tensed and ready for action.

In the past, a quick mutter of Latin would have opened the door, but things were more complicated now. Ethan could either speed up the rust degrading the hinges of the gate, or use a more material approach. Pulling a small tool from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock, using his pattern sense to tell him exactly where to apply pressure. The gate was open in two seconds flat.

"You're going to have to teach me how to do that some day," Megan said admiringly.

"I did start to teach you and Kat the skills of the effective criminal," Ethan pointed out as he cautiously entered the small cobbled yard at the back of the café. Like all the Hyde Park businesses, it was closed while the investigation was underway. "I believe those particular lessons had to be halted because of a certain irritant now happily looking for employment elsewhere. Happily for us, that is."

"So that means you can start those lessons up again." Megan grinned,as she followed in Ethan's footsteps.

He flicked a quick grin at her, before lifting a thin plank of scrap wood and using it to poke about behind a pile of rubbish sacks. "I'll get you a set of lock picks for Christmas then, instead of all those useless cosmetics."

Megan didn't even miss a beat. "That's okay," she said, patting his shoulder. "You can get me both."

There were rather a lot of small bones between the bags and the wall. Now aged, the bones could have belonged to chickens and have been dragged from the cafe rubbish by rats, but Ethan suspected that wasn't the case. He looked at the small dark hole at the base of the wall with disquiet. As much to distract himself as any other reason, he asked, "When are you seeing Jade next?"

He didn't need to be looking at Megan to sense the bright smile that graced her face at any mention of her new girlfriend. "Tomorrow night. We had plans for this evening, but being a Slayer comes first." She paused, then continued hesitantly, "Though if we get this finished before dark, you think maybe I should go surprise her?"

"Sounds a fine idea," Ethan told her. "And make sure she knows she's welcome around ours anytime... although you might want to make sure the first time that Rupert is out; he seems somewhat fierce about this sort of thing." He poked his piece of wood into the hole, causing something inside it to slide over the cobbles. Interesting. But before Ethan could investigate further, Gwydion started barking outside the small yard.

Megan went back to the gate to check on what the dog was barking at. "Oh!" She glanced over her shoulder at Ethan, eyes wide with childlike glee. "Ethan, come see. It's just like out of a Disney cartoon."

Unwilling to leave his potential discovery, Ethan nonetheless got up and went over to the gate. Beyond it, he saw Gwydion being teased by three little tinkerbell fairies, complete with lacy wings and glittering trails left wherever they flew, which was always just out of reach of the angry puppy.

"Hmm," he said noncommittally, folding his arms and pursing his lips as he pattern-read the strange creatures. "Settle down, Giddy." The puppy ignored him, continuing to bark and growl at the fairies, giving them a baleful eye.

"Aren't they amazing?" Megan asked, moving forward and reaching out a hand to try and touch one of the fairies.

Moving with a speed he didn't know he had, Ethan grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "No," he forbade. "I'm not sure what they are, but they're not about to grant you three wishes."

Megan's movements had attracted the attention of one fairy, and it hovered closer, close enough for Ethan's pattern sense to suddenly reveal what had been hazy until that point. "Christ."

He stepped back, wanting to be well away from the thing that without its glamour looked pretty much like a flying scorpion with humanoid hands. His instinct was to pull Megan back with him, but that would be denying his Slayer her job, so instead he pressed the length of wood he was carrying into her nearest hand. "We need them dead, Megan," he said in a low voice. "And for all our sakes, don't let them sting you."

To her credit, Megan didn't question or protest. She just moved smoothly until she was standing in front of Ethan, and when one of the creatures flitted close enough, she hit it for six.

The creature splatted into the side wall of the cafe and slid down to the ground where Ethan quickly stomped on it. It crunched beneath his shoe with a sensation not unlike crushing a giant snail. The other two swooped over, clearly angered. "Will you be able to manage?" he asked Megan, cautiously backing up towards the gate. He wanted to get back to that hole.

"I had a three hundred batting average on my school's softball team back home," Megan replied, grinning. "It's not a problem."

"I'll assume that's a good thing," Ethan said with a small laugh and went back into the yard. He had a feeling he knew what was inside that hole, and he needed to get to it.

He had given his poking device to Megan, but he was very unwilling to put his bare hand inside the hole. Ethan was pulling his gloves back on when Giddy's barking suddenly upped a notch into frantic. He whirled around to find a veritable swarm of the nasty little creatures heading straight towards him.

Hitting out with his arms, somewhat blindly, Ethan yelled for help, even as he was reaching for the patterns of the slight breeze that was agitating the air today, trying to build it up into something that could save him.

Before he could work up anything like a sufficient defence, Gwydion was there in front of him. Leash trailing behind, the dog barked and leapt, his powerful jaws closing on several of the little creatures with loud chomps.

Ethan was terrified that the dog would get himself stung; he didn't know how he'd explain that to Rupert, but Gwydion's disobedience had certainly bought Ethan enough time to gust the rest of the fairies away from him. Megan appeared, waving her slime-smeared length of wood, but Ethan didn't stop to watch her or Giddy commit further fae massacre.

Instead, he dived to the cobbles and thrust his arm into the dark hole, feeling about inside. His gloved fingers located a lumpy object, and he pulled it out.

It was a Chaos fetish, an elaborate mockery of a Voudan offering and a focus for a summoning. Holding it, even through thick gloves, made Ethan shudder and his bones almost ache. The urge to touch it to his bare skin, to taste the Chaos again was strong. It had been so long...

A low growl right beside him shook him out of his distraction, but not soon enough to stop Gwydion from grabbing the fetish from Ethan's lax grip. He watched as the puppy violently shook his head, ripping the thing apart with his teeth.

With a small shower of Disney sparkles, the remaining 'fairies' vanished. Ethan remained on his knees, his gaze returning to his now empty hands. Bugger.

Gwydion finished his demolishing, then moved closer, licking Ethan's cheek.

With a violent shudder, Ethan pulled himself together. He stripped the gloves hurriedly from his hands and threw them into the trash. He then explored the dog's coat, looking for stings. "Are you all right?" he asked Megan, without turning to look at her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He heard her toss away her makeshift bat. "You and Giddy?"

Gwydion was wriggling happily under Ethan's attention, which wasn't making it easier to make sure the puppy wasn't hurt. Ethan gave up using his hands and instead used his pattern senses to check out the dog. "The disobedient mutt is fine." He lifted himself stiffly to his feet. "I think we can call in the Council cleaners to remove the traces. Let's go home. I feel like I need a change of clothes."

"Ethan?" Megan's hand touched his arm gently. "Are you okay?"

He made himself look her in the eyes and smile. "I'm also fine, sweetheart. Now, how about we get you home and into some less practical clothing before you head off to see Jade?"

That successfully distracted Megan, and she visibly brightened at the thought of Jade. "Really? There's nothing else we need to do here?"

"We're done." He smiled at her and held an arm out to encourage her to leave ahead of him. Once she and Giddy were out of the yard, he firmly relocked the gate with a sense of relief.

***

"So," Buffy started, her voice sounding loud in the tall-ceilinged chamber. "According to this map, we can go to five different areas. Has stuff been all X-files-y everywhere or just, say, in the Chamber of Horrors? Which is so where I'd be if I were a homicidal wax mannequin."

"Most of the manifestations have been in the Spirit of London exhibit actually," Giles said, leading the way towards that section.

The museum was closed, the nightguards cowering in their office, too afraid to do their job. Over the last week, they had all suffered attacks. Three were seriously injured in hospital. Brief interviews with those still on the job had revealed that they were all quite certain it was the waxworks attacking; it wasn't humans pretending to be part of the exhibit.

The lights were down low, and Buffy waved her torch around, peering into shadowed areas as they walked up the stairs. "Spirit as in ghost?"

"More like spirit as in essence of," Giles replied. "It's London through the centuries."

As they pushed through the doors into the exhibit area, Buffy asked, "So how do you slay wax?"

"It's whatever is animating it that we want to get at, be it poltergeist or spell, but chopping or melting should work for incapacitation." In some ways, this felt like old times. "The best approach would be to treat them much the same way as you would zombies."

She hefted her axe, apparently testing its weight. "I'm ready."

Giles smiled, his own sword strapped to his back a comforting presence. "I never doubted that."

Apart from the main foyer, Tussaud's had few large chambers. Instead the route wandered between rooms in which tableaux were laid out along walls and within alcoves. There were waxworks everywhere and close enough to touch. Giles sincerely hoped that if any did animate, it wouldn't be all of them at once.

Buffy had stopped and was staring at a victim of the Great Plague. "Did this one's eyes just move?"

Giles stared at the figure in question, but didn't detect any movement. "I think it's just incredibly lifelike," he finally ventured. "Or deathlike, in this particular case."

Buffy reached out to poke the statue, but hesitated before making contact. "So... if it came to life would its germs come to life with it? Could we, you know, get wax-bubonic plague?"

"I don't think we need to worry about catching wax diseases," Giles said, even managing to do so with a straight face.

She poked the figure, and it rocked very slightly, not seemingly remotely animate. Apparently satisfied, Buffy walked on.

They continued in silence for a bit, Giles watching Buffy and thinking about the conversation they'd had the other day on the way to Leighton Buzzard. "Can I ask you something?"

"Buenos Aires," she replied. It was, apparently, an answer.

"I beg your pardon?"

She looked at him with a hopeful expression. "Is the capital of... somewhere?"

"Yes, but that wasn't what I was going to ask." Giles reflected it was probably a good thing that he had so much experience staying on topic despite Buffyesque diversions.

"Rio de Jan–" Buffy glanced at him and stopped. "What did you want to ask?"

"If you could be anywhere, where would you like to be?"

Her eyes widened a fraction. Giles half-expected her to name another South American city, but all she said was, "Here's fine."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "You can be anywhere in the world, and you choose Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum?"

She shrugged. "What's not to like? It's got fake merrymen, look. And you know what? Those bows and arrows are not made of wax." She peered at the Robin Hood display suspiciously.

"Stage props," Giles said, "Don't change the subject."

She glanced at him. "What do you want me to say, Giles?"

"Anything. As long as you make a decision." He checked the display they were walking past, but all seemed quiet. Turning back to Buffy, he said, "There must be somewhere you'd like to be."

"Sunnydale?" Buffy said, her tone flippant. She wasn't making this conversation at all easy.

Giles sighed exasperatedly. "Buffy."

She stopped walking and put her hands on her hips, or as close as she could approximate the gesture with an axe held in one of them. "Giles, I don't care where I am. What difference does it make to anything?"

"That all depends."

"On what?"

"If you don't care where you are because you're happy anywhere, then it makes no difference. But if you're not happy where you are, then you need to be looking for somewhere you will be."

Buffy seemed to be staring just over his left shoulder. "Pretty sure I'm just where I need to be right now. Duck?"

Giles blinked at the non sequitur. "Duck?"

"Duck!" She yelled and threw her axe right at him.

Ah, right. Duck. Giles was moving before the thought was completed, ducking to the side away from the axe and then spinning around to see what his Slayer was aiming at.

Three flamboyantly dressed punk rockers were heading towards them, all spiky shocks of pink or orange hair, bondage trousers, kilts and safety pins. Buffy's axe had sheered the arm from one at the shoulder, the absence revealing not blood and bone, but uniform beige wax.

Buffy sprinted past, high-kicked the, er, wounded one in the face, landed and reclaimed her axe, all in one smooth manoeuvre.

Giles drew his sword and moved in to face off another of the punk rockers, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu. Although back in his youth, he would have been more likely to be using a flick knife, if he'd wielded a physical weapon at all.

"Hey!" Buffy exclaimed. "I call no fair! Giles, tell them they're not allowed to do that!" When Giles glanced over, his Slayer was hacking away at the other two waxworks, but the cause for her complaint wasn't obvious.

"They're not allowed to do what?" he asked, blocking the attack of the figure he was fighting and countering with one of his own, lopping off its left hand.

"Get whole again," she said between kicks and swipes. Giles was about to ask for a better explanation when he saw for himself. The hand he'd sliced off seemed to melt, rapidly oozing across the floor to join the punk's leg. Meanwhile at the end of the waxworks' arm, a hand regrew... only this time it was holding a jagged broken bottle.

"Bugger," Giles muttered, jumping back as the waxworks thrust the bottle at him. "Definitely not fair," he agreed, trying to look at the figure with his magic sense, while he continued to dodge its attacks. There was an unpleasantly familiar magic aura hanging around the animated statue – Chaos. Not Chaos as black and sticky as the appalling glyphed pouch he was storing, but Chaos much like Ethan used to maliciously inflict upon unfortunate Sunnydale citizens.

Another quick glance at Buffy showed she was easily holding her own, but not actually making any progress. The waxworks reformed in almost less time than it took to notice it was happening.

Giles knew from Ethan that most Chaos magic of this kind needed some kind of physical focus; if he could find and destroy that, he could break the spell. The problem was that the focus could be almost anything. Giles did his best to narrow his magic sense, to try and follow the taint of Chaos to its source.

"Giles, this is stupid," Buffy complained from somewhere close behind him. "It's like chopping up water."

"I'm working on it," he replied distractedly, dodging the broken bottle again. He was fighting mostly by reflex now as more and more of his awareness was going ever deeper into his magic sense, following the ebb and flow of Chaos around the waxworks, forging against its currents upstream to where it had sprung.

He was dimly aware of Buffy fighting around him. His mind even took note for later of one particularly inhuman leap which would have taken his breath away had he time to really think about what she'd just done.

"They've called in the cops," she shouted in passing, and yes, several 'British Bobbies' were rushing into the fray. Not on the side of the law, of course. Buffy, twirling impossibly fast, sliced the head from one. "Why do your police guys wear those boob-hats, anyway, Giles?"

Giles didn't answer. He couldn't afford the attention it would take to do so away from his tracking attempt. He was so close... just a little bit more...

There.

An image of a glowing blood-red crystal flashed through his mind, along with the sense of where it was located. With a flick of his sword, he slashed the punk figure's t-shirt over its heart; the glint of red that shone through the hole confirmed what his magic had told him. Giles ducked under its counterattack and simply reached out and plucked the crystal out of the wax.

The figure immediately stopped its swing and fell to the ground, inanimate once more.

"Go for the centre of their chests," Giles shouted to his Slayer, turning to deal with a pair of Bobbies who were heading his way. "There's a red crystal, removing or destroying it should stop them!"

"On it." Buffy moved like sped up film, doing whatever was necessary to get the crystals out. Between them both, it wasn't long before they had nothing more threatening in their way than a pile of broken wax effigies.

"Well, that was bracing," Giles observed dryly as he used a scrap of one of the dummies' t-shirts to clean the wax off his sword.

Buffy gave him a huge grin, so apparently genuine and heartfelt that it both warmed Giles and saddened him as it had been so very long since he'd last seen such an expression on her face. "I'm ready for more," she said.

"There may well be more. Or just a very boring night spent checking all the figures for crystals that aren't there." Giles regarded his Slayer fondly. "You were quite a sight to behold."

Her grin, which was still there, was infectious.

It also helped crystallise an idea that had been toying around the edges of Giles' mind for a while. "You know, I do believe your answers to my question earlier may have been very telling after all."

The grin slowly faded. "Stubborn's a British thing, huh?"

"Tenacity, perhaps," Giles said, tilting his head to the side. "What I mean is there's at least one thing Sunnydale and here have in common, and that is that they're places where you could help."

She nodded sadly. "I tried to explain the other day. It's only when I'm the Slayer that I... that I know who I am."

"Maybe there's a reason for that."

"Because that's all I am?"

"We're all more than the callings we answer," Giles said, "but they're callings for a reason, nonetheless. Trying to ignore them or deny them tends to lead to a less than happy life." Lord knows, it had taken him long enough to figure that out himself.

"But there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of Slayers now. I'm retired. At twenty-two." Buffy's tone was challenging.

"Do you want to be?" Giles challenged right back.

There was a long pause with nothing said, Buffy playing with the red crystals in her hand. Then very quietly, without looking up, she said, "No?"

Giles moved closer, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Then we should see about bringing you out of retirement," he said quietly with a smile.

She looked at him intently, but didn't answer, seeming to be waiting for more.

"The Council is always looking for enthusiastic Slayers who want to work in the field, especially experienced ones." He dropped his voice as if sharing a confidence. "And I have it on good authority that the Head of the Council would be willing to negotiate whatever recompense and job that you wish."

She gave him a small smile, not committing to anything but obviously interested. "They don't come more experienced than me. And that so didn't come out right."

Giles chuckled. "I will take it in the spirit that it was intended."

The smile grew slighter bigger. "Would I have a neat job title?"

"Possibly," Giles said, measuring the success of this conversation by the width of, and indeed the very appearance of, her smile. "Was there one you had in mind?"

"Well, if you're the Head of the Council, and you're my Watcher...?"

"You have a good chance of talking me into whatever title you're thinking of," Giles confirmed with humour.

For a brief moment, she looked uncertain, but then she smiled, met his gaze strongly, and took a breath. "I'm the oldest surviving Slayer and have loads more field experience even than Faith. I've saved the world eight or nine times, and I've even met those creepy old guys who started the whole thing. Don't you think I should be called something that, you know, reflects all that?" She grinned, then added. "Plus, I've got the Scythe of Holy Ass-kicking."

With more than a hint of irony, Giles suggested, "The First?"

Buffy laughed then paused. "Uh, that was a joke, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Buffy, that was a joke."

"Ah, Watcher-humour." Buffy nodded wisely. "It's an AP class. I never got that far."

"You've still time," Giles replied, deadpan. Then relenting, he asked, "What about Senior Slayer?"

"The Senior Slayer? Could be cool. Would it come with an appropriate, uh, pay packet?" Before he could answer, she thrust her hand out at him. "Are these dangerous? Should I just crush them?"

Giles had carefully pocketed the crystal he was saving for possible research later. "Crushing them shouldn't be dangerous." He paused and then continued on in a more intimate tone, "Whatever you need financially, I'll make sure you get. Whether you're an active Slayer or not."

Buffy fisted her hand, and red powder fell through her fingers to the floor. "Is there really work for me?" she asked, almost timidly. "If you're just being nice..."

"Buffy," he said at his most serious. "I would have offered you a position when I first started trying to put the Council back together if I'd thought you would have taken it. You'll always have a place here if you want it, and that's not just me being nice. That's because there's never been another Slayer quite like you, and I would be a fool not to put you to work."

Her eyes opened wide, and she smiled, a genuinely grateful expression. She opened her arms and was clearly, Giles thought, about to hug him. Instead, her gaze focused behind him, and she leapt, using his shoulder as a springboard, vanishing over and beyond him.

Giles spun around to see Buffy in the middle of a group of cavaliers and roundheads. That answered the question about whether there were more crystals at least. "We'll consider this your first assignment," he said, stepping into the fray and parrying the sword of the nearest figure.

"You mean I'll get paid for this?" Buffy laughed, slicing right through the chest of a curly-wigged cavalier so that it fell in two halves. "Things are looking way up."


	12. Chapter 12

Ethan stared glumly at the television. He'd nagged Rupert into getting the full Sky package, so he felt obliged to watch it occasionally, but it had turned out to be one of those things that sounded a lot more interesting than it actually was. Fifty odd channels, all showing tedious imports or repeats. Nine times out of ten, like tonight, Ethan ended up watching UK Food.

He was strangely determined to improve his bad reputation in the kitchen. How hard could it be? It was just ritual magic without the magic, wasn't it?

But Jamie Oliver spoke an annoying Essex mockney, and he seemed to be all they intended to show for the next few hours. Not even Ethan needed to be told how to create a mixed grill, anyway. Sighing, he lifted the remote and silenced Oliver with a sense of relief.

Gwydion, who had been in the kitchen, padded into the living room and came over to where Ethan was sitting on the sofa. He rested his head on the cushions and looked up at Ethan hopefully.

It was a chilly evening. Ethan had his legs curled up under him and a fleece blanket pulled around his shoulders. It was a poor substitute for Rupert's arm, but his husband was still at Madame Tussaud's with Buffy, 'cleaning up' as the message he'd left on the machine had said. Ethan had found it there after dropping Megan off at Jade's for her surprise visit. He was still annoyed to have missed speaking to Rupert in person.

"Up you get then," Ethan told Giddy, patting the cushion beside him. "But if Rupert asks, I'll deny all knowledge of how the hairs got on the upholstery."

The young dog scrabbled up onto the sofa eagerly, and Ethan endured the moment of awkwardness until Giddy settled down beside him, his head now in Ethan's lap.

Ethan absently stroked Giddy's head as he sighed again. Being on his own tonight wasn't a good idea. Really, it wasn't.

He'd been feeling disturbed ever since handling the Chaos fetish, which had been used to summon the fairy creatures to Hyde Park. He wanted to talk with Rupert about it. He wanted to be reassured that his reaction had been natural, and that he wasn't still a danger to his loved ones because of it. He wanted to feel himself fill with Rupert's magic and affection, warming him. Even Ethan's bone marrow felt cold tonight.

But Rupert wasn't there.

Ethan should, he supposed, get up and turn the fire up, perhaps make a cup of tea, but Giddy was comfortable now, and something stubborn and unreasonable inside Ethan didn't seem to want to take care of himself. He sighed for a third time.

Giddy raised his head at that and regarded Ethan with his deep brown eyes for a long moment. Then he moved forward enough to lick at Ethan's face repeatedly.

"Get off, you monster!" Ethan pushed the dog back down. "I suppose that was your version of 'cheer up, grumpy-drawers', was it?" He ruffled Giddy's ears.

It was true. Ethan was feeling sorry for himself, and the self-pity had followed hard on the heels of brooding... which had followed the guilt and worry which had followed the hesitation and craving induced by the Chaos fetish. How the hell was he meant to fight a war against a type of magic that called to him like heroin to an ex-junkie?

He didn't have an answer to that, and Rupert wasn't there to think more clearly for him. Or Megan, for that matter. His Slayer was often very astute about the sort of things that confused Ethan at a fundamental level. But he'd hidden his reaction from her earlier, and really, he didn't want her to know how shaky the ground he stood on truly was. Her respect meant more than he liked to admit to himself.

Giddy barked suddenly and then got up and headed for the lobby door, stopping and looking back over his shoulder at Ethan.

Ethan's sense of Rupert's pattern quickly disappointed the hope that it was Rupert himself returned home early, but it was someone the dog knew and liked, that was obvious. It was too early for it to be Megan either, so Ethan was betting with himself that he'd open the door to find Xander there. While he'd have preferred Rupert to be home early, the American lad was good company.

Ethan headed out into the lobby and opened the front door wearing a smile on his lips... which dropped rapidly when he found Megan outside, clutching her unused bunch of keys and hurriedly wiping tears from her pale face.

"H-hi," Megan said, with a desperate attempt at false cheer. "I– I thought I'd..."

"What happened?" Ethan demanded almost harshly, but as soon as he heard his own voice, he shook his head, forbidding Megan from answering. "Come in. You're shivering. Come to the fire and get warm." He put his arm around her, drawing her inside.

Mutely, Megan let him pull her in, sniffling in an obvious attempt to hold back more tears.

Ethan shut the door behind her and guided her into the living room. After sitting her down on the sofa, he turned the fire up a notch before joining her. "There now," he gentled, pushing her long hair back from her face and cupping her cheek, encouraging her to meet his eyes. "Tell me."

She looked at him for a moment. Then her face crumpled, and she moved forward into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder with a sob.

"Jade," she said, voice muffled and full of tears.

"Did you have an argument?" he asked, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"Sh–she had ano-another g–girl there." The words came out amidst the gasping sobs that Megan was no longer trying to hide.

Ethan cringed. This was worse than he'd thought. "Not just a friend, I take it." Megan shook her head. "Are you sure?"

She laughed humourlessly through her tears. "Pretty sure. There was... a lack of clothes."

Bugger. "I'm sorry, Meglet. So very sorry." Ethan stroked her hair and struggled with upwelling guilt. He'd encouraged Megan to see Jade today, had encouraged her in fact to see Jade at all. "What was her excuse?"

"She didn't have one." Megan seemed to be pulling herself together some, although the bitterness in her tone was in some ways more disturbing to Ethan. "She said I was overreacting and that this was the way the real world worked."

"This is the same girl who told you on Saturday that you were special, and that last week complained because she couldn't see you every day?" Ethan was starting to feel angry.

"I thought–" Megan shook her head. "I must've misunderstood. Took what she was saying the wrong way." She sighed sadly. "Maybe she's right. Maybe I _am_ hopelessly naive. But I thought..." She looked up at Ethan, eyes bright with more tears that had still to fall. "I thought she liked me. But... But tonight she started picking Giddy's hairs off my jacket, and she sneered and said... She said I smelled like dog."

Oh, but it hurt to see his Slayer in pain like this. "Megan, none of this is your fault. Jade clearly isn't someone you should be with anyway. Really."

Megan sniffled again. "She seemed so nice, and she smiled at me, and I felt..."

A sudden cold feeling hit him in the gut. "Did you... Megan, did you have sex with Jade?"

She looked away.

Oh God. It shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t matter. Long gone were the days when virginity, metaphorical or literal, was truly relevant. Sex was just another part of growing up, like learning to shave. But this was Megan, Ethan's Slayer, and her first time should have been special because she was. It should have been memorable for good reasons, not bad.

"Oh, my Meglet." He drew her close again. "She didn't deserve the honour." Megan buried her face against Ethan's shirt and cried silently.

He held her, stroked her hair, muttered soothing phrases and generally tried to be what she needed, but all the time his mind was largely elsewhere. This was all his fault.

He had primed and primped her and sent her out onto the dance floor like a lamb to the bloodstained altar. He'd made no real attempt to temper her romantic dreams, her desire to find her 'Rupert', and he'd positively encouraged her excitement over Jade, abetting the fledgling relationship in any way he could. And he knew better than that. He knew the world, the way it worked. It was full of users and abusers who were just waiting for innocent young things to come along and get stuck in their web of lies. When you had no dreams remaining of your own, those of other people became irritating, and there was jaded pleasure to be had in crushing them. Ethan knew this; Ethan had done this.

And now his Slayer was crying in his arms, and it was his fault.

Gradually Megan's tears quietened, but she made no move to pull back. Ethan kissed the top of her head. He felt helpless. The sense of responsibility for her pain was almost overwhelming, but he didn't know what he could do to ease either of their discomfort. He hated Jade on Megan's behalf; Christ, the girl's name should have served as warning to what she was. How dare she do this to his Megan? How dare he let it happen?

"What did you do when you broke up with your... first?" Megan asked softly. "You said it wasn't Giles."

"It wasn't like that, Megan." Ethan shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "It was just meaningless sex. There was no relationship to break up." He was horribly aware that his words could be seen as proof of Jade's accusations of naivety. "Men are a different breed, sweetheart."

"Not too different, apparently." She sighed and raised a hand to scrub at her face in a childlike gesture.

"No," Ethan shook his head. "She led you on. Casual sex is casual sex; it doesn't pretend to be anything else. She was playing on your emotions. Believe me, I know. I've... I've done it." He probably shouldn't have confessed that. He gave Megan an apologetic look and took her hand from her face and held it.

"I suppose I should've known... I think I did know that she wasn't... y'know. Like my Giles. But she was nice, or at least seemed to be, and I wanted someone to like me..."

He cringed. This was truly his fault. He should have been teaching Megan about the sour reality of the world, not encouraging her sweet fantasies. "Would you like a drink of something?"

Megan shook her head then moved to rest against Ethan again. "This is good."

And so he held her, soothing silently, for a long time. Gwydion, who had avoided the pair of them almost respectfully while they'd talked, now climbed back on the sofa without permission and warmed Megan's other side, so that she was snuggled between the two of them. Eventually the heat from their bodies and the turned up fire was sending all three of them to sleep, and Ethan forced himself to stir. He didn't want to sleep, not yet.

He had things to do.

"Bed now, Megan," he told her quietly, shaking her just a little. "Take Giddy with you for company. Would you like a hot cocoa?"

She shook her head sleepily then leant in and pressed a kiss to Ethan's cheek before she stood up. "Thanks," she said, even managing a wobbly smile. "That was... I just... Thanks."

Spontaneously, he touched his cheek where her lips had left a small dampness. "Anytime. I'm your Watcher and your... friend. You can always come to me. I'm on your side."

Her smile became a bit less wobbly at that, but she didn't say anything else. She tugged on Giddy's collar to get him up and headed upstairs with the young dog at her heels.

Ethan watched her go and then got up and poured himself a large glass of Rupert's malt. He felt like he needed some Dutch courage for what he was thinking about doing, which was something the like of which he hadn't done for quite a while. But it needed doing. Really, it did, and no one else was going to do it, so it had to be him. It felt almost like his duty to deliver... justice. Jade had acted like a cold hearted bitch; she had made his Slayer feel like dirt, like an idiot. Ethan had no intention of letting that lie.

He waited a while until his pattern senses told him Megan was asleep. Then he slipped his coat on and walked out of the house on his own.

He'd talk to her first, of course; give her a chance to show genuine regret, but he knew Jade would be unrepentant of her treatment of Megan. He knew it because he knew her. He'd never spoken to Jade, had only seen her from a distance, but he knew her. And he was a better sadist than some tart dyke who hadn't even hit twenty yet.

***

It was still pitch black out when Giles wearily made his way up the path to his front door, but that had more to do with the time of year than him getting in at a reasonable hour. If it had been July instead of December, the sky would already have started to lighten.

Still, all in all, it had been a good night's work. Buffy and he had investigated every wax figure in the museum and removed all of the animating crystals that they'd found. Most of the time they had been dealing with inanimate objects, but there had been enough fights to keep it from getting too tedious. Madame Tussaud's would be closed for some time. It was a good thing for the business that it was the quiet season.

Buffy had enjoyed every minute of it. Giles felt something like a smug satisfaction at that. That was the essence of what being a Watcher should be, at least for him, doing whatever he could not only to keep his Slayer alive, but to make sure she lived as well.

So he was tired, but in a good mood as he unlocked the door and made his way into the house as quietly as possible, intending to make his way upstairs to join Ethan in bed, preferably without waking anyone. Or perhaps he would wake Ethan. He'd always found the man nigh irresistible all sleepy and compliant.

All his plans vanished when he stepped into the living room.

Ethan was lying on the sofa, his body twisted in such a way that a surge of appalling fear hit Giles before his sense of Ethan told him that his lover was healthy if not happy. Coming closer, he could see Ethan's eyes were closed and his face screwed up. He was breathing in tiny, fast pants. There was a blanket fallen to the floor, and Ethan's fingers were dug, clawlike, into a cushion he held against his belly.

Giles hadn't even fully registered all this before he was acting, moving across the room and kneeling beside Ethan, reaching out to gently shake him awake. Ethan whimpered and twitched but didn't wake up. Giles wondered vaguely where Gwydion was, but he thought he could hear the dog moving about upstairs, and Ethan needed his attention now. His eyes were moving rapidly behind their lids.

"Ethan," Giles said aloud and with his mind, trying to reach him in whatever nightmare he was lost in, worry a growing weight in Giles' gut. "Wake up, love."

He thought he caught his name in reply, a confused and distant mental sending if he wasn't imagining it. From Ethan's mouth there came only a long drawn out whine, which sounded almost like a far away scream.

Worry was definitely overtaking him now; Ethan usually easily came awake at his touch or voice or merely his presence. Beginning to wonder if this were some kind of attack instead of merely a simple nightmare, Giles moved to join Ethan on the sofa and wrapped himself around him, sending a steady stream of magic through the other man's body.

The twitching became more pronounced, and the panting more ragged; Ethan seemed to be fighting his way towards an awakened state. In his mind, Giles heard Ethan more clearly, calling for him as if lost and terrified, begging for Giles to come to him.

Then, with a huge, desperate gasp, Ethan convulsed in Giles' arms and began to struggle, fighting wildly against Giles as if he were an attacker. "No, no, no, no, no..."

"Ethan!" Giles tightened his grip, trying to get through to his lover with voice, mind and magic. "It's all right. It's me. I've got you."

"R–Rupert? Oh God..." Ethan's struggles stopped instantly, and he clung to Giles, his breath now coming in sobs and gasps. "Oh... oh." Giles could feel Ethan's nails being dug into his back as if Ethan was trying to hold on, afraid he would fall somewhere.

Giles continued to hold onto him, murmuring soft reassurances, waiting for Ethan to come fully back to him. He was reminded vividly of the days directly following Ethan's rescue from that Initiative hellhole, when they had been still dancing around each other, and Ethan waking from nightmares had been the norm.

Ethan quietened, and his body slowly relaxed, but he didn't speak immediately. After several minutes of Giles' gentle attention, Ethan then asked quietly, "What time is it?"

"A little after five a.m." He slid a hand against Ethan's cheek. "Are you all right?"

"I... I'm not sure." Ethan squirmed under him, apparently trying to reach something.

Giles lifted up enough to make it easier for Ethan to move and get whatever he was after.

Ethan continued to wiggle however. He seemed to be feeling underneath his sweater. "Humour me, Rupert?" he asked, sounding embarrassed. "Tell me they haven't reappeared."

"What the Initiative did to you?" Giles asked, running his hands underneath Ethan's shirts and over now smooth if scarred skin where the magic siphons had been connected. "They're gone. They're never going to reappear – anyone who tried would have to go through me first."

Ethan shuddered. "It felt so real," he muttered. He tugged Giles back down to him and pressed his face into the crook of Giles' neck. "You're very late." There was definite reproach in the comment, however gently stated.

"There are very many waxworks at Madame Tussaud's. I know this because Buffy and I had to go over every single one of them." It was more of an explanation than an apology, but he said it as apologetically as he could.

"I don't like sleeping without you."

"Is that why you're down here on the sofa?"

Ethan seemed to hesitate before he replied. "Rupert, the last time I slept without you, I had nightmares. I can't say I care for this."

"The last time you were contending with the Dark Chaos," Giles pointed out, logically, although if he listened to his instincts he knew there was more to Ethan's theory than that.

Ethan didn't answer, but after a while he said, "It's been a poor evening. Megan was let down badly by Jade."

Giles frowned, sitting up and pulling Ethan with him. "What happened?"

"Megan went to see her unexpectedly. Jade wasn't alone and pretty much laughed in Megan's face." Ethan sounded, all things considered, surprisingly calm.

"Bugger."

"Giddy's upstairs with her. I didn't want her to sleep alone tonight." And that felt like a reproach too, although Ethan probably hadn't meant it as one.

"I'm sorry," Giles found himself saying. "It wasn't like I wanted to be away."

Ethan leant against him. "Was it good? Working so closely with Buffy again?"

"Yes." Giles smiled at the thought. "It was. She's... amazing. What a Slayer can be at the peak of her abilities." He shook his head in wonder.

"Megan was fairly amazing too. In Hyde Park."

It was a bit strange to hear an echo of his own pride in Buffy in Ethan's voice when he talked about Megan, but strange in a good way. "How did that go? Find out what was causing the missing wildlife?"

Ethan looked down at his hands, which he clasped tightly. "Nasty little sprites summoned via a Chaos fetish."

Ethan's reaction coupled with the words sent a frisson of alarm and concern through Giles. "Are you all right?" he asked, brushing a hand against Ethan's face.

"I'm not... infected. It was only the kind of thing I would have once made myself, but..." As Ethan met his gaze, Giles could see how worried his partner was. "I wanted it, Rupert. Part of me wanted it, really rather a lot."

That made perfect sense to Giles. "Of course you did, but you didn't take it." He was sure of that; he would've felt the taint on Ethan as soon as he touched him with his magic.

"That is possibly more thanks to Giddy than my own willpower," Ethan admitted unhappily. "The monster was a bit of a hero today too. I on the other hand–" He didn't say anymore.

"You were tempted."

"I'm not a good man," Ethan said very quietly, wringing and twisting his hands together. "I never will be. I try for you. I try so hard. I will never be a hero. I will never have an instinctive knowledge of what's 'right' the way that you do."

Giles reached out and took Ethan's hands in his to stop the fretting. "Seems to me you've been doing a more than passable job at doing what's right. You were tempted – I would worry more if you were insisting you hadn't been. You didn't give in though, even if you were tempted."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me?" he bade softly.

Ethan gave him a very emotional look before finding control from somewhere and looking down again. "I... I didn't give in, but I didn't not give in. Giddy took the fetish from my hands, took the choice from me, before I had the chance to think, to realise I had a choice. I don't know what I would have done, and I... I doubt myself. It's just so easy to go back to that mindset where... anything goes."

"And my saying I believe in you isn't going to help, is it?" Giles murmured as much to himself as to Ethan. "So, let's play this out. Say you did give in. What do you think would happen then?"

Ethan was silent for a long time. So long that Giles was about to say something more, and indeed, had opened his mouth to do so, when Ethan suddenly muttered, "What would have happened, what would then continue to happen, would be me letting you down. Disappointing you. Failing you."

"Oh, love..." Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan, pulling him tightly against him. "The only way you could fail me is if you left. Any of these other things you're worrying about are just stumbles, things we deal with together and go on."

Ethan looked up, twisting on the seat to face Giles, and freed a hand, placing his trembling fingers on Giles' cheek. Giles gained the distinct impression that Ethan was about to say something, something important. So it was frustrating and perplexing when Ethan shook his head almost imperceptibly and then more or less collapsed against Giles, having said nothing.

Much as part of him wanted to push, Giles could also sense the depth of Ethan's emotional turmoil so he restrained himself. Instead he just held him and offered, "And I'm not a hero, love. I just do what has to be done. There are times enough when that's far from the heroic."

"That's true heroism though," Ethan insisted, seeming very certain for someone who'd just claimed not to know the difference between right and wrong.

"Sometimes," Giles allowed, even though he didn't quite believe it himself. He wasn't a hero. Buffy was a hero. He was just support personnel.

Ethan was arranging himself on Giles' lap. "You care about the world. You care about ideals and moral principles, and you believe that there are sides and that you serve the right one. Something like that, anyway."

"Ideals and moral principles aren't necessarily as important to me as they once were. Keeping those I care for as safe as I can – as well as the world - that's far more important."

"That's all that matters to me – those I care about. The rest of the world can go to merry hell so long as you and the girls and our friends are fine." Ethan pulled back enough to meet Giles' eyes. "Do you understand, Rupert? Nothing else matters. Not to me."

Giles couldn't help but remember all the times he wished he could narrow his own focus likewise. "I can't, and won't, fault you for that, love."

"You might." Ethan snuggled back in close, breaking the eye contact. "One day."

He shook his head. "That's not going to happen."

"You're wrong. How can you say that?" Ethan stirred restlessly. "Were I to let innocents suffer and die in order to safeguard you, you'd not find fault in that? Really? Bollocks, dearheart. You know you would."

"You wouldn't do that," Giles denied. "Not without compelling reason."

"If it were the only way to keep you safe, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"What makes you think that if the positions were reversed, I'd sacrifice you so easily?"

Ethan pulled violently back, staring at Giles with an expression close to horror. "You'd kill innocents? For me? No." The last word was a flat denial, and Ethan started to clamber off Giles' lap.

Giles tightened his grip on Ethan, holding him in place. "You think I value you any less than you value me?" he asked, well aware the question was close to the one he'd been worrying at himself.

"I... I..." Ethan definitely seemed scared. His gaze darted erratically around the room, and his hands pushed ineffectually at Giles. "I'm not worth..."

"You're not worth it?" Giles finished disbelievingly. "Ethan, you're my heart!"

Ethan seemed to wilt a little at that, surrendering to a degree, but his words weren't any less disturbing. "I'm the bad one. The wild and out of control one. You're the good one. The hero. The righteous pragmatist. You mustn't... Killing people to save me is... " His eyes finally aligned with Giles'. "Don't add to my crimes."

Giles stared at Ethan, truly shocked at his lover's perception of them both. "I'm not as lily-white as all that, nor are you so coal-black. I think that we're both varying shades of grey. I'm not planning on going around randomly killing people for you, nor are you planning on doing so for me."

"Rupert, I... I've done..." Ethan wriggled, but not quickly enough to obscure the shudder that preceded it. "Bugger. Let's go to bed."

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep without nightmares?" Giles asked gently. He wasn't enthused about letting the conversation drop, but had to admit there would be better times and places to have it.

"If you're with me. Your presence keeps my demons at bay." Ethan's fidgeting stopped altogether, and he cupped Giles' face gently in his hands. "You rescued me from that place, and you stop me going back."

Unable to resist, Giles leant in and kissed him. "I always will," he said. "Rescue you, I mean. Whenever you need me to."

Ethan's returning kiss had something of the desperate about it.


	13. Chapter 13

Ethan woke up relaxed and contented in Rupert's arms.

Then he remembered the evening before, and his mood immediately disintegrated like a vamp dusting in the sun. Megan crying, Megan in pain and his answer to it. In the light of day he had no choice but to question the wisdom of what he'd done. Well, no. He'd never thought it wise, not in the slightest, but he had to reconsider the necessity of it now in the clarity of day.

No, it _had_ been necessary. No one should be allowed to get away with hurting Ethan's Slayer.

Rupert's words last night, after waking him from that appallingly real nightmare, had not helped, of course, which was odd as they should, Ethan now realised, have reassured him considerably. Instead, they'd panicked him, filled him with guilt and fear... What was that about?

Suddenly restless, Ethan sat up and swung his legs from the bed.

"Ethan?" Rupert's sleepy voice came from behind him.

"Go back to sleep, dearheart. You don't have to get up yet, and you had a very late night."

He should've known better. Rupert promptly sat up and laid a hand against Ethan's back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered immediately, but then admitted, "I may be a little ill at ease."

"Why?" Rupert rubbed Ethan's back lightly.

"Yes, why." Ethan chuckled drily. "Good question, that."

"So what would be the good answer?"

Ethan shrugged. "Damned if I know," he lied. "Probably just residue of last night's nightmare."

Rupert tugged on his shoulder gently. "Come lie back down," he urged.

Ethan sighed softly and obliged. There was no point in resisting, and anyway, he didn't really want to. He settled into Rupert's arms and tried to relax.

"Would talking about it help?" Rupert asked softly. "The nightmare, I mean?"

"There was nothing new. It was just like the old ones: pain, helplessness, humiliation... the knowledge that I'd never get away from it, not by my own steam, and no one cared enough to come for me." He didn't really want to talk about this or anything else for that matter. Maybe he could use distraction. Ethan ran an exploratory hand down Rupert's chest.

Rupert looked at him with sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry you went through that."

Ethan shrugged. "It's all done and over now, providing you're around to stop me dreaming. Let's talk about nicer things. Such as how it feels when I do this." He moved a hand sparking with magic across Rupert's belly.

Rupert's eyes darkened with pleasure. "You know how it feels," he replied, brushing the back of his hand against Ethan's cheek, adding a gentle touch of his own magic.

Good. This was better than questions. Ethan surged up and sat over Rupert, straddling him, grinning down cheekily as the covers fell back behind him. He wiggled his arse and said, "See anything that tempts you, sir?"

"You always tempt me." Rupert's touch remained gentle, almost as if he was afraid of damaging him.

Gentle wasn't what Ethan wanted, and yet for some reason he didn't feel like he wanted to push Rupert either. He frowned slightly as he ran his hands over Rupert's chest and murmured, "I could do with being taken out of myself."

"Is that what you really need?" Rupert looked at him long and searchingly.

"Yes?"

Rupert covered Ethan's hand with his own. "You don't sound very sure."

Ethan's frown deepened. Then with a pronounced sigh, he lifted himself from Rupert and lay down beside him again. He stared up at the ceiling and said nothing.

Rupert rolled to his side and slid his arm around Ethan's torso. "Talk to me, love."

"I don't want to talk," and he knew he sounded petulant. "I don't even want to think."

"But that's not really going to help things, is it? It's just putting off dealing with whatever's wrong." Rupert's voice dropped to something more intimate and loving. "Talk to me so that I can help."

Ethan wasn't sure why he so often found himself in this situation – not wanting to talk, but knowing that inevitably he was going to. Because Rupert wouldn't give up, and even were Ethan to get up now, presuming he could escape Rupert's arms at all, he would find the subject returned to again and again throughout the day until he gave Rupert what he wanted. What Rupert thought he wanted, anyway. "How much of this is possessiveness?" he asked, trying a different sort of diversion.

"My wanting to help you?" Rupert frowned.

"You wanting to know all my thoughts."

Rupert seemed to consider that. "I won't deny that some possessiveness may play a role - you are mine, after all." Despite everything, the casual way Rupert said that threatened to steal Ethan's breath. "But it's more about loving you and not wanting to see you in distress."

And this, of course, was why Rupert always won, always got his own way. Because Ethan was just so bloody grateful to be loved and cared for that he could, ultimately, refuse Rupert nothing, but neither could he tell Rupert about what he'd done to Jade because he knew that was something they'd never agree upon. Regardless of everything Rupert had said last night, Ethan knew his husband, knew he'd never accept such vindictive action. But the girl had hurt Megan, and that, really, was that.

Rupert sighed. "And you're still not going to talk to me."

Ethan scrubbed his hands over his face. "I wouldn't say I was in distress, dearheart. I'm just slightly uncomfortable, that's all."

"Uncomfortable enough that you want to stop thinking?"

He sighed loudly. "Rupert, do you want me to talk, or do you want me to talk to you? If I promised to talk to someone else...?"

"If you would feel better talking to someone else, of course I'll support that," Rupert said immediately, although there was a hint of disappointment in his tone, a sudden stiffness in his body lying tight beside Ethan's. "I promised you I'd give you whatever you need, and if that's space, then I–"

Ethan winced. "No. No no no. I don't need space. That's you, not me. I'd live in your bloody pocket if you'd let me. I just need..." He rolled his eyes in exasperation, as here it came. "Maybe I just need to be allowed to keep my guilty secrets secret."

"Even when they're driving you from our bed?" Rupert sighed and made a throwing away gesture. "Fine. If that's what you need to do, far be it from me to stop you."

"Wouldn't it have been nicer to just have shagged?" Ethan asked sadly as he sat up again, his back to Rupert. This hurt, but it still seemed the lesser of two evils.

There was a long moment of silence and then Ethan heard the sheets rustle as Rupert sat up and pressed against Ethan's back, wrapping his arms around Ethan's waist again. "You're entitled to some space if you need it, be it physical or mental." Rupert's grip tightened. "Although I don't think I'd be able to give you any emotional space."

He could tell him; he really could, but then he'd be made to undo what he'd done. Oh hell, this wasn't meant to happen. There never used to be all this... angst before when he'd played the Trickster. Ethan seemed to have developed a Rupert-shaped conscience, and he didn't like it. He took a shuddering breath and leant back against Rupert, saying, "I want to make Megan breakfast in bed before we head into the office. I want to spoil her today; let her know she's loved."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Rupert dropped a kiss on his shoulder. "So are you, you know. Loved."

Ethan squeezed his eyes tight shut and bit back on the emotion that aroused. Then patting Rupert's hands, he slipped from between them and started to look for clothes.

***

Giles sat in his office, alone apart from his sleeping dog. After a morning's worth of silent mental debate, he reached a decision and picked up the receiver, dialling Lucy's number from memory.

If anyone asked, he would tell them he was calling to see if the Coven, and especially Keri, could shed any more light on the sudden rash of Chaotic incidents, but in truth he was calling because even if Ethan didn't need to talk, he did.

The phone picked up at the other end of the line. "Of course you do, Rupert," said a male voice. "It's only to be expected," There were no males living in Lucy's house, but there was one who visited often.

"Reading minds at a distance, Ian?" Giles asked. "Or am I just that predictable?"

He heard a deep chuckle. "Sometimes I get a feeling, a thought perhaps, as the blasted machine rings. Nought but a parlour trick. I'm afraid Lucy is out riding. I'm waiting for her myself."

"Ah." Giles paused, feeling more than slightly awkward. "Perhaps I should call later–"

"I thought you wanted to talk."

"Yes, but I don't want to bother..." Giles trailed off. "I should probably just skip the arguing to save time, shouldn't I?"

There was a short pause at the other end, which was not uncommon when the two of them spoke. Although Giles and Ian had always been friendly enough together, there had tended to be some unspecified tension lurking under every attempt at communication, even in the days before Ethan's rescue.

Then Ian said, "Howsabout you tell me how my student is doing? He hasn't been in contact for a while."

"He's keeping secrets." That hadn't been what Giles had meant to start the conversation off with, but it was what came out when he opened his mouth.

"And you're concerned." Giles could almost hear Ian nod his head.

"Yes. Whatever it is that he's not telling me is bothering him a great deal."

"Why do you think that might be?"

Giles sighed. "That's the problem. I don't know."

"No, you're just trying to answer the wrong question. I meant not what is Ethan not telling you, but why might he not be telling you? I'm certain you can answer that, Rupert."

There was something of the droll and superior schoolmaster about Ian's tone, which didn't exactly warm Giles to the older man, but he gritted his teeth and answered the question. "He's afraid."

"And what's he afraid of?"

"Of talking to me obviously." That came out more frustrated and short than he had intended.

If anything, Ian's tone became more stubbornly urbane. "And why would that scare him?"

Giles pushed his glasses up enough rub at the bridge of his nose. "Because he's got it into his head that I'm some paragon of virtue, and he's the personification of sin, and that I'm either going to reject him, or he's going to taint me somehow."

"Is he right?"

"What kind of bloody question is that? Of course not." Ian remained silent, although Giles could hear him sucking on something in the background. Giles was rapidly losing his patience. "You have another opinion?"

Even then, he didn't get an immediate answer, but eventually Ian asked, "Do you truly consider yourself incorruptible, m'boy?"

He snorted. "Far from it, but neither do I consider Ethan totally corrupted like he seems to believe himself."

"Corruption... happens. It's inevitable. Ethan will make you wilder, less certain. That will happen." Was there a slight catch in Ian's voice when he added, "That has happened."

"I know." Memories of his youth with Ethan ran through Giles' mind, and the feelings of losing himself that had finally driven him to leave. "There are... risks, but the alternative is not to have Ethan in my life, which is no alternative."

After another pause, Ian said something surprising. "Don't let him get away with it."

Giles blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're a bonded pair. You made that decision, both of you, and yet both of you are resisting in your own ways." Ian's voice became low and dramatic. "Understand this, Rupert Giles. The only way both of you will survive, the only way you'll succeed in your task, is by allowing the bond to be what it needs to be."

A cold shiver ran down Giles' spine at Ian's words, which seemed to hold a power that reached right through the phoneline. "That merely involves giving up our autonomy entirely." He sighed heavily. If that was the price he had to pay to have Ethan, then he would just have to pay it.

Ian snorted, his voice back to normal. "Merely?"

"Ethan's right. You are a miserable old crow."

That prompted a long chuckle, but it seemed to end with a sigh. "Enjoy your yuletide, m'boy. Make things right before it comes, and make the most of the time when it does, of each other. Spring will bring more than green leaves."

"Is that when the hibernating bear is going to awaken?" Giles asked sharply, referring to the prophecy they had been given.

"Haven't you already seen the signs of its stirring? It's coming... and we can blame you and Ethan for that."

"How so?"

Ian sounded sympathetic in his reply. "They sense you both. They sense your success compared to those who have gone before you. They know they have to act now, not later, or else you will become too powerful for them to combat."

Giles was still not used to being the focus of such a prophecy. "This... it's not that I haven't dealt with this kind of thing before, but it's still difficult to believe that Ethan and I–"

Ian interrupted brusquely. "I would suggest for the sake of us all that you learn to believe and fast."

Giles opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a knock at his office door. The noise in itself was startling as Giles could sense it was Ethan behind the door, and Ethan never knocked. Of course, Ethan did then walk in without any 'enter' being called, but there was something almost hesitant in his action, and when he saw Giles was on the phone, he gestured at the door as if asking if he should leave again.

Giles shook his head and then spoke to Ian on the phone. "Something's come up here, and I have to go, but thank you for the information."

"Enjoy your midwinter, Rupert. And remember, the greatest gift you can give to each other is yourselves, which is not just trite sentimentality in this case." And with that, Ian hung up.

As Giles put the receiver down, Ethan walked over. He was holding an orange file out of which papers poked out in a higgedly-piggedly manner. Giles supposed he should be grateful Ethan had put them in a folder at all.

"What's this?" he asked as he reached out to take the folder, deliberately brushing his fingers against Ethan's as he did so.

Ethan let Giles take the folder and stepped back. "Important is what it is. Xander and I have found a link between the Hyde Park and Tussaud's incidents, perhaps with some of the out-of-town Chaos events too. We want to go to that address now and try a touch of magically aided reconnoitring."

"Excellent." He opened the file and glanced through its contents. One of the more suspicious Tussaud guards and a member of the Hyde Park staff both had a lot of stock in a mysteriously undefined company called P&G Holdings. At least two of the other Chaos-related incidents had also involved people with links to that firm. "Feel like some extra company while you do so?" Giles asked after he finished reading.

Ethan took another tiny step back. "The fewer the better really. Xander and I... well..." He stared at Giles' desk. "No, of course you should come."

"You don't want me to."

Ethan's gaze didn't move from the corner of Giles' desk. "I always want you with me."

Mindful of what Ian had told him, Giles got up and moved to touch Ethan, to pull him into his arms. "You sound less than convincing, love."

For a second or so, Ethan was stiff and resistant, but then he sagged and his arms wrapped around Giles. He rested his forehead on Giles' shoulder and said nothing.

Having Ethan in his arms always made things seem better, even when there were issues lying between them as now. "You can't push me away, you know," he said conversationally. "Doesn't matter how hard you try to, I'm still going to be here." And he would repeat that every time his insecure lover needed to hear it.

"I don't want to push you away. Truly," Ethan insisted. "If I had my way we'd always stand this close."

"It might make doing some things a bit difficult, but," Giles continued, softening his tone, "it might just be worth it."

He felt Ethan's hands slipping under his clothes, felt their warmth on his back. "Xander's waiting for me, but I don't think he'd mind waiting a little longer." Ethan's breath was hot on Giles' neck.

Giles smiled. "You have something in mind?" he asked, not pushing for the moment, just working on making sure they were connecting after the awkwardness of that morning.

"Always." Ethan's fingers poked between Giles' waistband and his back, pushing down and sending out little exploratory sparks of magic.

"Yes, I rather thought that might be what you were thinking." Giles closed his eyes briefly to concentrate on the sensation. Pleasure like this he would never take for granted, any more than he would Ethan himself.

Ethan's lips pressed into the base of Giles' neck. "Complaining?" he asked before continuing to kiss up Giles' neck and along his jawline.

"Do you hear me complaining?"

Ethan pulled back enough to grin and then tipped his head, moving in for a kiss. The sight of Ethan's grin, especially after the notable time it had been since the last time Giles saw it, pulled an answering grin out of Giles even as he gave Ethan the kiss he was mutely asking for.

Ethan pressed in as their lips closed, his proximity making it very clear how he was feeling physically. The kiss was slow but deep and full of low-flame intensity. Giles was beginning to think fondly of the day he'd taken Ethan over his desk, when the damned intercom buzzed loudly.

Giles pulled back reluctantly. "Bugger."

"Let me tell Pammy to go away," Ethan said, reaching out a hand to the machine.

"She wouldn't have buzzed if it wasn't important," Giles said, pulling Ethan's hand away. "She has standing orders not to disturb me when you're in here unless it absolutely can't wait." He gave Ethan one more quick, apologetic kiss then keyed the intercom himself. "What is it, Pamela?"

"Sorry, sir," came her electronically distorted voice. "There's something you should see."

Of course there was. "I'll be right with you." He switched the intercom off and turned back to Ethan. "Looks like you best go on with Xander without me."

Ethan's pout looked a lot more genuinely unhappy than the expression normally did, but he forced it into a wry smile and nodded. "I've been needing you since this morning. I suppose a few more hours won't make much difference." He collected together his scribbled papers from Giles' desk and closed the folder.

"I always need you," Giles told him, pulling Ethan close for a brief moment more. "We'll continue this tonight, when there won't be any interruptions."

Ethan met his gaze for a moment or two longer then turned to go.

***

Bobridge House was a block of offices with a central foyer. No one at the front desk gave Xander and Ethan a second glance, however, as they walked in and straight to an open lift. "First Floor," Ethan instructed Xander, whose hand hovered over the buttons. "Just press the 'one'," he added with exasperation, before Xander could tell him that they were on the first floor.

"Stupid British numbering system," Xander muttered as he pressed the appropriate button.

Ethan was quiet as the lift rose, extending his senses, tasting the atmosphere for Chaos or magic in general, but there was nothing significant enough to perceive. The lift door opened, and they stepped into an empty corridor. A plaque on the wall announced three office suites on this floor, including their destination – 'P&G Holdings'. It was an anonymous name covering up what they suspected was a group of Chaos mages working together to cause mischief around London, which made it a little disappointing that he could sense nothing.

He shrugged at Xander. "Shall we go take a shufti?"

"Sure." There was an awkward pause and then Xander was saying, "Just to be absolutely clear, a shufti would be...?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "A quick look around. Preferably without drawing attention to ourselves by being conspicuously... American."

"Guess I shouldn't have worn my red, white and blue boxers then, huh?"

There was not a patriotic bone in Ethan's body; nonetheless he drew himself up to his full height. "In case you've failed to notice, Davy Crockett, the British flag is red, white and blue, and indeed, proud Brits can frequently be heard to cry 'three cheers for the Red, White and Blue'. Sometimes they even sing it."

"Really? Doesn't that get confusing at international events?" Xander asked, so earnestly that Ethan knew he was deliberately playing the ignorant American. Ethan considered several biting responses, but then simply blew the lad a kiss and set off down the corridor chuckling to himself. "So being conspicuously American will draw attention, but being conspicuously gay won't?" Xander asked as he caught up and fell into step beside him.

"I don't know," Ethan flashed a grin at Xander as they walked. "Shall we snog under the security camera and see what happens?"

Xander snorted. "You seemed to have mistaken me for someone older, British and much more Gilesy."

Ethan didn't answer as he was staring at the door of P&G Holdings. The blinds were down in the windows, and there seemed to be no light beyond. He held his hand up to shush Xander as he reached out with his pattern senses. "No one at home, and only slight magic present. I think they may have scarpered."

"Well, that's rude on their part. After we went to all the bother of tracking them down, the least they could do is be here when we find them."

"Yes, scandalous," Ethan agreed, cautiously trying the door handle. "But possibly good for us as we couldn't have ventured inside without back up had there been many here." It was locked. He reached out again with his pattern sense. "It's a straightforward mechanical lock," he told Xander. "The opening of which would have been as easy as a Mr Kipling's apple using my old style of magic. Now, however, unless I want to rust away near pristine hinges, I can't magic my way through." And the rusting would take too long to not attract attention, as would lock-picking.

He looked around the corridor thoughtfully. There were people in the other offices; he could sense them moving about, and anyway it was unlikely there'd be a way through between one business and the next. Then his eye caught the square shape of the air conditioning grill in the ceiling a little further down the corridor.

Xander was still staring at the door. "Too bad we didn't bring Buffy or Megan along. Slayer strength can be better than a skeleton key."

"It can also be very loud," Ethan said distractedly feeling through the locked door again. He turned and tugged gently at Xander's sleeve and pulled him a little way down the corridor. A man in a suit talking on a mobile phone entered through the door at the stair end of the corridor and walked past them, completely ignoring their presence. Once he had vanished into one of the other offices, Ethan directed Xander's attentions with a gesture up at the vent.

Xander looked at the grill covering the duct, then pointedly looked at Ethan and down at himself. "I haven't been small enough to fit through a place that size since I was nine, and I doubt you've been either."

"Not necessarily a problem," Ethan said confidently, although inside he was quailing a little at what he was considering. "We need to move quickly. Give me a leg up so I can remove the vent?" Although dubious would be an understatement for the look Xander shot him, he quickly moved to give Ethan the boost up he asked for.

Ethan did his best to cloak them both, but it was, ironically, much harder to do so successfully in an empty corridor than in a crowded street or nightclub. There were no patterns of frenetic human movement here that he could play with.

Moving rapidly therefore as they really couldn't afford to be spotted in an obvious act of breaking and entering, Ethan put his shoe in Xander's hands and stepped up. The vent was held on only with clips, thank God, so Ethan undid them and slid the cover inside.

He then hopped down. "Now I'm assured by your own words that you have seen many strange things and are therefore not going to panic when I do what I'm about to do." He took his jacket off and handed it to Xander, who just blinked.

"You're taking off your jacket? I think I can control my impulse to run screaming away from apparel– What are you doing?" he finished, eye widening as Ethan began to unbutton his shirt.

"Stripping," Ethan answered, knowing full well that explained nothing. He laid his shirt over Xander's arms and quickly pulled off his undershirt to go with it. Shoes followed and then he began to unbutton his trousers.

If anything, Xander's eye grew wider, and his mouth hung open a little as he stared. Then abruptly Xander shut his mouth and his eye and spun to face the other way. "I like you, Ethan, really, but there's some things I really don't need to know in detail."

"Move your eyepatch to the other eye," Ethan suggested helpfully, not bothering to hide his snigger despite the rush in which he was trying to do things. "It wasn't actually my naked body I was worried about your reaction to, you know." He put his trousers, boxers and socks on top on his other clothes, reaching round Xander to do so.

"I know I'm probably going to regret asking this, but what were you worried about? Other than catching a cold?"

"Just don't panic, get me safely into the air duct, then try your best to look inconspicuous until I can let you in." And with that, crushing firmly down the fear that was building inside of him, Ethan changed. It was so very easy. It was like pulling a thread, which unravelled everything he was physically and recreated him as something that was, somehow, just as much him as the human body had been.

From a fox-eye viewpoint, Xander seemed huge and intimidating. Ethan, nonetheless, bit the lad's leg to try to stir him into action. His animal ears could hear someone coming up the stairs.

"Ow!" Xander complained, opening his eye and looking around then almost comically looking down. He stared, then blinked, then grinned. "Is that all?" he asked, even as he shifted the clothes he carried and bent to pick Ethan up. "I had a classmate that spent three years as a rat. Animal transformations are old hat."

Ethan didn't answer, mainly because he couldn't, but also because there wasn't time to try to communicate. He scrabbled into the duct and out of sight. He could only hope Xander would find some way to avoid attention, despite carrying a complete set of clothes in his mitts.

Being a fox again felt different than before. Last time, he had very deliberately tried to lose himself in the animal consciousness, a form of suicide really. This time his thoughts were his own, although invaded by the perceptions and instincts of the animal. If he'd had more time he would have analysed the experience in detail and further quelled the fear that he was going to lose himself, lose Rupert, which he knew was what he was feeling, and which was silly, as Ian changed into a crow all the time without losing himself.

He padded quietly through the ducts, taking the first left and stopping when he was pretty certain that he was over the office space he was after. He peered through the grill, smelling the air and using his pattern sense to confirm there was nobody below.

Undoing the clips was not easy in this form, and it took a couple of minutes of careful work with tooth and claw to undo the grill, which then fell to the floor beneath with an alarming loud clatter. After waiting another few moments to see if there was any reaction to that, he jumped down from the hole onto a desk below.

A few seconds later, human-shaped Ethan was unbolting the door to let Xander in.

Xander grinned at him as he stepped inside. Then he seemed to suddenly realise that Ethan was still naked and squeezed his eye shut. "Want to do something about the draft?" he asked, holding out the clothes in Ethan's general direction.

Ethan shut the door before taking the bundle. He got dressed quickly, taking pity on his friend. "Truly, I'm not that hideous to look at, am I?"

"It's not that," Xander hastened to assure him. "I just don't need to have actual visuals when I'm trying not to imagine... things. Stuff. With Giles. That you do. That I by no means have been thinking about."

Ethan smiled at the back of Xander's head. "You'll find life becomes a lot more comfortable if you just let your mind go where it wants to." He felt his smile becoming just a little bit cruel. "And there's certainly nothing to be ashamed of in having a kink for older men."

Xander's answer was more serious than Ethan expected. "There's some paternal type feelings that really, really make me not want to go there. Giles is... well, I don't want to picture him naked. Or doing... whatever it is you do together. Not because he's repulsive or anything, but because he's my... He's Giles."

Well, that certainly depleted the wind quota in Ethan's sails. "I really had no idea quite how many stepchildren I was taking on when I accepted this ring," he said drily and started to explore the office.

"If you want, I can go over your Christmas list and make sure you haven't left any of us off," Xander joked, moving to help.

The office was plain and utilitarian: two desks, one telephone, three filing cabinets, trays, paper and pens, but no plants and no ornamentation on the walls or surfaces apart from a poster of a star chart.

"Hmm, I rather think you should all be considering what to get me for Christmas," Ethan said as he extended his senses. There was magic in here. Not a great deal, but it was setting the tips of his fingers tingling. Ethan moved towards a filing cabinet in the corner.

"What makes you think we haven't?" Xander asked then noticed Ethan's purposeful movements. "Got something?"

"Chaos," he muttered and pulled open a drawer.

It hit like a train crash, slamming into him and blasting him back into the table behind him. Chaos: deep red, sticky and oh so sweet, covering him, filling every cell. So very much stronger and more deliciously dangerous than the slight hint he'd detected had indicated. And even as he went down under, crying out as he felt himself mind, body and soul reacting to his old dependency, he realised that it was a trap set only for him, that no one else would have his vulnerabilities to this magic. They'd known he was coming, and they wanted him back on their side.

Distantly, he heard Xander call out his name in alarm, a second later he felt Xander's hands on his body, running over him obviously checking for wounds.

He had none, of course, at least none Xander would ever be able to detect. The Chaos felt so wrong, yet so bloody good. Ethan was as high as Mary Poppins' kite and heading for the moon. He was vaguely aware that he was rolling around on the floor in something approaching ecstasy, but his awareness of his body was slight. All of his senses were consumed by the treacly Chaos bathing him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Xander babbled in panic, trying to hold Ethan still. "This is so not good. Bad even, very, very bad. Giles is going to kill me if– Bad. Very, very bad."

"No," Ethan said with a predatory smile, coming back to himself somewhat, to his old self, that was. Still so high, but able to think. "I have to disagree. This is very, very good." He sat up, pushing Xander back, and then just because he felt like it, he pulled the muscular young man in for a fierce kiss.

Xander made a sound very much like a mouse's squeak then pushed Ethan away. "Wha– That's just– It's wrong. No kissing!"

"Bad, wrong... you're just packed full of condemnatory terms, aren't you?" Ethan stroked his hand down Xander's chest, feeling the muscles tensed beneath the double layer of cloth and scraping his nail over the nipple he could feel despite the material. "Admit it to yourself, Xander. You want a man. Your curiosity is palpable. You're just dying to know what it feels like." He let his hand slide lower, over the thick belt, and rested it on the zipper of the lad's jeans. "You want to try some cock."

Xander brushed Ethan's hand away and straightened up, stepping back. "Even if I did," he said seriously, coldly, "I wouldn't do that to Giles."

That made Ethan twitch. Giles. Rupert. His Ripper. He looked uneasily at his hand that a few seconds before had rested on Xander's crotch, but was now supporting him on the floor. The gold wedding ring seemed to almost burn in his vision. What the hell was he doing?

But the Chaos rallied in him, surging through his cells, arousing and filling him with a kind of quiet frenzy wherein the consequences of his actions were irrelevant. What mattered was the now, and what he wanted in this now was... "I could make you, you know." No, that was wrong. He'd never been a rapist even at his worst... only he had, hadn't he? Perhaps not sexually, but hadn't he repeatedly removed people's ability to choose? And hadn't it been fun? Just last night, hadn't part of him exulted in the wonderfully apt revenge he'd taken against Jade?

He shook his head like a dog trying to get dry.

"You could," Xander said, "but that's not what you really want to do, not the real you."

Ethan pulled himself to his feet, felt himself waver, and held onto the edge of the nearest desk. "This is the real me, sweet boy. I've had Chaos in me since I was eight years old. They forced it out of me in Devon this summer, but it's back now. I'm back." He grinned hungrily and stalked towards Xander. " _Volantatis tuum est meus. Cogitatus t–_ "

Xander looked sad more than frightened, but either way held his ground. He spoke forcefully. "You made a choice between Chaos and Giles. You chose Giles. Are you going to throw that away now - throw him away?"

Ethan stopped, swaying on the spot, the end of the spell left unspoken. "He... he... I'll bring him with me. He used to enjoy this sort of thing..."

"He doesn't anymore. You going to force Giles too?"

Bad memories of the spare room, Chaos in him like now, forcing Giles down on the bed, taking him, making him helpless... so hard and hot. But wrong. Really, truly wrong. God, was he going to be sick? "Shut up," he spat at Xander. "Just shut up."

But Xander continued implacably. "What do you think Giles would say if he saw you now? How do you think he'd look at you?"

Oh God. Fuck. Jesus Christ fuck. He was in trouble. He was in so much trouble. Every muscle in Ethan's body tensed as he fought with the urges inside of him. He stared helplessly, desperately, at Xander and clasped his hand to his mouth to restrain the urge to vomit. Then immediately removed it again to beg, "Running water. Please."

Xander immediately started looking around the office suite, quickly disappearing through an inner door. A second later, Ethan heard the distant sound of a tap running. Xander reappeared in the doorway and looked at Ethan questioningly. "Do you need...?"

"Don't come close to me," Ethan said immediately. If Xander were near enough to touch, the tiny level of control he'd manage to wrestle would be lost. Christ, he needed to get to that water. Stumbling and hitting clumsily into things on the way, he ran into the restroom, shoving roughly past Xander to get through.

There was a small sink, the tap running. Ethan stuffed his hands into the freezing water. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as he began to try to force the Chaos out of himself. Rupert, Rupert, Rupert - he was doing this for Rupert. He had to. There could be no surrender, no inadequacy to the task. Rupert would be hurt if he didn't succeed.

He was aware of Xander hovering in the doorway watching anxiously, but the younger man remained silent, and Ethan couldn't spare any of his attention to speak to him anyway. The Chaos was stuck to Ethan, stuck inside him, like sodding superglue. Whoever had set the trap had known their craft. With Rupert's magic to cleanse him, they could have managed well enough, although even then it would have been a prolonged process. But on his own with no wild weather to help him, it was proving tricky. Agonisingly so.

In the end, Ethan did the only thing he could that would not, hopefully, harm others. He tapped into the building's electricity supply with his magic and administered what boiled down to a badly controlled series of small cascading shocks to his body. The lights in the office flickered on and off as the electricity jolted through his body again and again, to be carried away by the water. It took with it the Chaos, which lost its tenacity under the current.

When finally the Chaos was all gone, curled down the plughole and carried far away, safely diffused, Ethan collapsed to the floor. He was propped against the wall, his arms hanging limply. He forced his mouth shut, but otherwise felt too weak to move.

After a moment, Xander moved over to the sink and wet a cloth. Then he knelt beside Ethan and ran it gently over Ethan's face. "You okay?" he asked softly.

Slowly, Ethan turned his head to face Xander and managed just about to make his eyes focus. "'M so... very... sorry."

Xander waved the apology away. "Not the first time I've dealt with a friend under the influence of bad magic."

Ethan really wanted little more than to go to sleep currently. "Still sorry. Really. Can't move... yet. Wanna search the office... f'clues? While I... r'cover?"

"You'll be okay if I go do that? I can wait here with you if you want."

Alone sounded good at this moment. "Be fine. Take care... Don't thin' there'll be more traps. But... care."

Xander nodded. "Call if you need... anything." He patted Ethan's shoulder then stood up.

Ethan watched, slack-jawed and useless, as the young man left the room. Then he muttered again, "So v'ry sorry."


	14. Chapter 14

"I really am, you know," Ethan said quietly, almost hoping his voice wouldn't be heard over the noise of Xander's car. They were finally on their way home.

"I know," Xander replied patiently. "Apology accepted, like it was accepted the last fifty times."

Ethan rubbed his face hard. It had been a few hours since his intense encounter with Chaos. Thanks to a couple of drinks in the nearest pub and a lot of sitting down, he was more or less back to normal physically, albeit with the emphasis on the 'less'. But his mind was still a bit of a subdued maelstrom. "Are you going to tell him? Tell anyone?"

Xander seemed to consider for a long moment before finally saying, "Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't know... I don't know what I want. Well, yes, I do. If anyone is to tell him, I'd like it to be me." Oh hell, as if there wasn't enough tension between him and Rupert anyhow, what with the secret Ethan was already hiding.

"What will you say?" Xander asked curiously.

"I don't know." It had only been the other day on the Heath that he'd tried to tease Rupert into jealousy over Xander and not been taken seriously, which was fair enough as he hadn't been, but there was a grim reaper kind of irony about that conversation now. "Christ, I'm sorry."

"Y'know, this conversation would probably go a lot faster if we didn't keep going back to the apologising," Xander pointed out, not unkindly.

"That wasn't me," Ethan said, which he'd already said at least twice since leaving the office, but his mouth seemed to be stuck in the same ever decreasing circle as his mind. "I know what I said at the time, but that wasn't me. I was never that... that... predatory."

"It's okay, Ethan, really. I know that wasn't the real you." Xander paused before repeating earnestly, "Really."

He gave Xander a ragged smile. "I may stop apologising by Christmas. Possibly."

"I can handle that," Xander said. "As long as you don't feel the need to make yourself disappear." He paused. "Or bake cookies."

"Willow?" Ethan asked, having already been told a little of Xander's side of the events after Willow's girlfriend had been shot.

"Yeah. Her cookies actually weren't bad, but I've seen you in the kitchen. Please. Don't."

Ethan laughed... and it felt good. "Thank you. I needed that. This has not been the best few days for me."

"Always happy to help." Xander glanced over at him. "You don't get what you did today, do you?"

His face fell. "Oh, I do, Xander. Truly. I'm so–"

"You fought it off."

"Huh?" Feeling rather stupid on top of everything else, Ethan stared at Xander.

"The bad mojo," Xander elaborated. "You fought it off."

"Well, only bec– There... I had no..." He was right. Bugger it all, Xander was right. Ethan had fought a huge amount of Chaos tailor-made for his own vulnerabilities and won. "I suppose I did. Who'd have thought."

"Well, Giles for one," Xander answered as if it had been a serious question.

Ethan found he was grinning at Xander. "I did pretty well really, didn't I?"

"Yeah." Xander grinned back. "Did it all by yourself too."

Ethan tipped his head to the side. "Well, not quite. I'm not sure I would even have tried if you hadn't kept saying 'Giles' at me. It was the reminder of Rupert that gave me the desire to fight it."

Xander gave a half-shrug. "Talking down crazed magic users is one of my specialities. Along with bringing Buffy back to life and making doughnut runs."

"Not a bad resume," Ethan acknowledged. He was feeling a lot better now that he realised he'd done something to be proud of today. After handling the Chaos fetish in Hyde Park, he'd worried about his susceptibility to his old magic. He didn't think he would anymore.

Xander turned the corner into their road and found a parking spot a little way from the house.

Ethan turned to him. "I'll tell Rupert about the attack, of course, and obviously I'll pass on the bits and pieces that you found." Among other things, Xander's search of the P&G Holdings office had uncovered a potentially very interesting coin or metal token, clearly enchanted. "But I'm not sure about... about admitting what I did to you." Although God knows, he didn't need another undisclosed sin to add to his guilty conscience. "I need to sleep on that decision."

"If you don't want to... get into details, I'm not going to argue." Xander paused and then offered almost diffidently, "Giles kissed my fiancée once while under a spell."

Ethan felt his eyebrows raise high. "He did?" he asked, undoing his seatbelt.

"Yep. Willow cast this memory spell that backfired. Or I guess overachieved would be more accurate, since it did what it was supposed to, only moreso. We all lost our memories, and Giles and Anya decided they were engaged." Xander suddenly grinned. "Also that Spike was Giles' son."

"Another stepchild? This is getting ridiculous." Chuckling a little, Ethan opened his door and got out of the car.

"Yeah, well," Xander laughed as he got out of the car himself, "even suffering from amnesia, Giles wasn't all that happy about the possibility. I don't think either of them ever mentioned that particular misunderstanding again. Anya, on the other hand, spent quite a bit of time after that trying to get me to kiss like Giles."

None of the half a dozen replies Ethan could think of to make, which all seemed to involve kissing, Xander, or Rupert in some way or another, seemed at all appropriate currently. Nor was he comfortable discussing Xander's bereavement just at this moment. In the end, he settled on a smile and, "So you'll think he'll be understanding then?"

"Ethan, it's Giles. When has he ever not been understanding?"

"I think I've possibly known a very different man over the years to the one you have," Ethan said quietly. "Admittedly, I'm sure you'd feel I deserved the meted out punishment I've received in the past."

Still, Ethan heard what Xander was really saying, and it was true that Rupert... Well, there was only so much that could happen. Violence was no longer a part of their relationship since they'd reconciled, and Rupert couldn't realistically leave, whatever Ethan's insecurity feared. The bond was growing far too strong. So really, Ethan only had fierce words and emotions to worry about. Unfortunately, it was Rupert's anger that scared him the most. Especially when, unbeknownst to Xander, Ethan had two guilty secrets, not one.

Xander stopped and looked at Ethan assessingly. "Agreed, I don't know all the details, but no, I don't feel that."

Ah, he was talking about the Initiative. "Oh, I think certain punishments went far beyond Rupert's intent also." He stopped outside the front door, key at the ready, and spoke quietly. "I was thinking more of the days when Rupert seemed to believe it necessary to take a leaf from my useless father's book, which was amusing, to say the least. But to be fair, he regrets those times as much as I regret the actions that brought him to it."

"We all have regrets about the past," Xander said. "The trick is to not dwell on them so much that you lose the present. And in the present, I don't think there's anything you could do that Giles wouldn't be understanding about."

Ethan could only hope Xander was right. As he opened the door and stepped into the lobby, he said, "And at least I have something to boast about now. Good for this poor banged up ego, that."

Xander laughed. "If that's all you needed to help with your ego, I would've let you kiss me weeks ago."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and replied archly, "I meant my defeat of Chaos, dear boy." He laughed, hearing an echo of Ian's voice in his own. "Although if it does you equal good to believe it was the wonder of your sweet lips then, by all means, do." Still chuckling, Ethan opened the door to the living room and stepped inside... only to freeze in place halfway through the door, Xander bumping into him from behind.

The living room was fairly crowded. Buffy and Dawn Summers were on the couch. Rupert was standing, having obviously just risen from his chair, a stern look on his face. Megan was hovering hesitantly in the kitchen doorway; from her posture alone, Ethan could see she was upset. And he knew why, could see exactly why, for there in his own chair sat Jade, the girl who'd hurt his Slayer.

He didn't look back at Rupert's face. He couldn't. It must all be out in the open now. "Bugger," he murmured, very aware of Xander blocking his escape route back out.

"Ethan, if I can see you in the study?" Rupert asked, voice formal and distant.

God, he wanted to run. Every instinct inside of him was screaming at him to get out of there, get away, because Rupert was angry and that meant pain. And not even physical pain, which Ethan was an old hand at ignoring, but emotional.

But he'd made a promise never to run again.

Everyone remained silent as he walked across the living room, but he could feel the weight of all their gazes upon him. He glanced at Megan as he passed her, but she turned away. That hurt. As he put his hand on the study door, he heard Xander cough behind him and say, "Uh, Giles...?"

"Later, Xander," Rupert said, following Ethan toward the study.

Ethan walked in, quickly moving out of the doorway and towards the French windows, wanting to keep a physical distance between himself and Rupert. Only he didn't, of course, want that. Not really. He wanted to throw himself at Rupert and be held and soothed and shagged thoughtless... but that was clearly not about to happen. He stared out into the darkness beyond the glass, seeing nothing.

"I take it this was the secret that you didn't want me to know about," Giles said, shutting the door behind him.

Ethan's breath on the window was condensing, forming a small cloud he could draw in. He doodled with his finger until he recognised the symbol he was forming. It was part of the design on the coin that Xander had found, although Ethan thought he'd seen it somewhere before as well. Shuddering, he wiped it away. Without turning around, he said, "Shall we just not and say we did, Rupert? I'll undo my little spell. She can go away and happily abuse some other unfortunate girl. Then perhaps we can talk about what Xander and I discovered this afternoon?"

"Oh, I think you've put the fear of God into the girl," Rupert observed, and perhaps his voice wasn't quite so severe. In fact, there had been more than a bit of humour hidden in its tone. "I doubt she'll be acting quite so cavalierly in the near future, at least."

Cautiously, his posture unavoidably defensive, Ethan turned to look at Rupert. "How much trouble am I in?"

Rupert stared at him for a long moment then sighed. "Probably not as much as you think. I certainly can't condone what you did, but... I understand why you did it."

Hope sprouted inside Ethan. "She hurt Megan. Deliberately."

"Not out of cruelty so much as callous youth," Rupert countered.

"No," Ethan shook his head and folded his arms. "There's a budding little sadist in that one. She enjoyed bringing Megan to a state of humiliation and dismay. Trust me on this."

Rupert inclined his head, not arguing the point. "How long were you going to keep your spell in effect?"

"Until now, I suppose," he answered sourly. "I'd just thought there would be longer for the lesson to sink in before the 'now' occurred. The sociopathic bint hasn't had to deal with even had twenty-four hours of really smelling like a dog in heat."

"I had to lock Gwydion in our room upstairs." Rupert looked annoyed. "You can apologise to him later for putting him in the position of being manipulated by your magic."

"How did you find out? Did she complain to Megan?" Ethan had spoken to Jade before tweaking her pheromone patterns, just to make sure his impression of her was correct. His words and amusement before he'd left had probably at the very least suggested to the girl that he was to blame for the fact that male dogs were suddenly interested in her in a very unnatural way. Ethan had been relying on there's-no-such-thing-as-magic goggles to keep him safe.

"No. Pamela's been collating any reports of strange incidents for me, and she recognised the name when she read reports of a girl hounded by a pack of randy dogs in the local park." Rupert's frown was enough to repress Ethan's urge to giggle before it could amount to anything. "Pamela thought it was another attack from our unnamed enemy and was worried that they might be striking closer to home."

Oh. He couldn't stop a small chuckle. "Well, that's ironic, isn't it," he commented drily, trying desperately to ignore the morass of emotion he was wading through. Rupert was still so far away, and his posture wasn't exactly inviting Ethan to come closer. That hurt in a deep place as if his soul was being stretched a little taut.

"That kind of irony I can do without." Rupert paced the length of the room, stopping and running his hand through his hair in frustration. "This isn't something that can become a habit, Ethan. I can't be worrying if the incidents I'm trying to deal with are legitimate concerns or a case of friendly fire."

He felt his teeth clench. "She hurt Megan."

"If you're so proud of what you did, why did you feel the need to hide it from me?"

Ethan smiled. He could feel the skin of his face stretch with the posture, but inside something seemed to be holding a naked flame to his gut. "Maybe because I knew all the bollocks you tried to soothe me with last night was just that?" He could hear a familiar sly, sardonic tone returning to his own voice. He hated this so much, but he couldn't see his way out.

"Oh for..." Obviously exasperated, Rupert crossed the room over to where Ethan stood and pulled him into his arms. "Just because I don't approve of your actions doesn't mean any of my feelings for you have changed."

Ethan didn't reply; he couldn't. He was too busy fighting a fierce, almost desperate, relief and gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Rupert and clung.

Rupert's demeanour seemed to change in the face of the reaction. "One of these days you're actually going to believe me when I tell you that," he said softly, his hands sliding over Ethan's back, comforting.

Three words managed to escape Ethan's attempt at control. "I need you." For once, he wasn't talking about sex.

"I'm not going anywhere." Rupert was close enough that Ethan could feel the breath of his words against his skin. "I keep telling you. You can't push me away."

"I tried to tell you. Really." Catlike, Ethan rubbed the side of his face against Giles. "I wasn't expecting... It never used to... It wasn't even that bad a thing I did, was it? I mean, compared to what I... oh..." He moaned, feeling like everything he started to say would just make things worse.

"It's not like I don't understand the desire. Lord knows, I've felt the same whenever someone hurts those I care about." Rupert dropped a kiss on Ethan's temple. "But it isn't our place to mete out judgement or punishment."

But... Ethan pulled back just far enough to see Rupert's face. "Isn't that exactly what Watchers and Slayers are all about? Playing judge and jury?"

Rupert shook his head. "They're about protecting the world and defending those that can't defend themselves."

Ethan was damned if he could see the difference. "That's exactly what I meant this morning. You understand what's right and what's wrong intuitively. I don't. I just saw Megan hurting."

"You knew it was wrong. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have bothered trying to hide it."

"No, I knew you'd think it was wrong. That's all. It still feels right to me." He paused. "Sort of... Oh, I don't know."

"If you know what I would think is wrong, and you insist I understand right and wrong intuitively, then you have a way of figuring out right and wrong yourself," Rupert pointed out calmly, logically.

Ethan gave Rupert an anguished look. "Megan was hurting. Don't you understand? There's never been... I..." He gave up and let his head drop back to Rupert's shoulder. "She was hurting, and it was my fault."

"What makes you think that it's your fault?"

"I know about the world," he mumbled. "Know about what most of sodding humanity is like at heart. I should have warned her, protected her. Instead, I encouraged her. She wanted to find her 'Giles'."

Rupert brushed a hand against Ethan's cheek. "That doesn't make it your fault. You can't protect her from life, Ethan. She's going to get hurt - that unfortunately is part of living."

"I don't want to be her Watcher anymore." He surprised himself with the words; he hadn't intended to say them, but once they were said, he knew he meant them. "First I try to kill her. Then I set her up for heartbreak."

"Oh, love." Rupert looked at him sadly. "It won't make any difference whether you have the official title or not. It won't stop you from caring or wanting to protect and help her." He smiled faintly. "Take it from one who knows."

Gently, Ethan freed himself from Rupert's arms. He walked the few steps to the wall that adjoined the study and living room, and he put his hands flat upon it. Standing close, he let his forehead touch the wallpaper also. "Was she hurt?" he asked as he felt through the wall with his pattern senses, finding and eliminating bodies until he located Jade's.

"Jade? No, just completely shaken up. She also seems to have developed a phobia of dogs."

It was a matter of a few seconds to re-tweak Jade's natural pheromones. Then Ethan stepped back and looked at Rupert. "I won't apologise to her."

"That would be more than I would ask of anyone," Rupert said.

Hesitantly, Ethan walked nearer again, but didn't close the distance. Rupert would have to do that if it were to happen. "So what now then?"

"Promise me something?" Rupert asked.

"I won't do it again," Ethan said, looking away.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Next time, talk to me?"

"Before or after I bugger things up?" He offered a weak smile and took a small step closer.

"Well, I'd prefer before, but whenever you can work me into your schedule."

"I promise," he said quietly, sincerely, and then frowned. For with the awareness that was becoming more common since he'd changed his magic in Devon, Ethan suddenly found he knew something. "That was the second of three," he told Rupert, wondering at it.

Rupert frowned. "The second of three what? Promises?"

Ethan nodded. "That I won't run, and you've no idea how much I wanted to when I walked in earlier, and that I'll talk to you about my dodgy activities. If this were a fairytale, dearheart, I'd caution you to be very careful about what you demand for the third."

"As three wishes go, I certainly could have made worse choices for the first two." Rupert moved closer and slid his arms around Ethan's waist as he spoke.

Ethan ran a light hand over Rupert's upper chest. "Am I forgiven?"

"You're forgiven."

Oh, that felt so ridiculously good that Ethan felt like a fool for causing all this in the first place. He should have known he couldn't take it. Things were so different now. Things mattered. And now that he'd promised, he'd have to tell Rupert about Xander too. He hoped it wouldn't be stretching the promise too thin to delay that confession for at least a few hours. He was so very tired. Intense electrical shock treatment was not apparently good for one's energy levels.

"Do you think Megan will also forgive me?" he asked.

"You'll have to ask her. But," Rupert smiled, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Rupert..." He could hear the whine in his own voice, and so clearly could Rupert, who raised an eyebrow and gave him a stern look that Ethan recognised from Rupert's dealings with Slayers and underlings who were being unreasonable. Ethan shivered. "Don't."

"I think," Rupert said slowly, "that you and I should sit down and have a discussion about feelings and bonds and what we each need from the other."

"Oh God, no." That was the last thing Ethan wanted. "Haven't we done enough unpleasant talking in the last fifteen minutes to do us for months?" And of course there was still that other difficult confession to come. He pushed closer and let a hint of magic sparkle from his fingers on Giles' chest. "Can't we let our bodies do the nattering?"

"That depends. Is there nothing you need from me that you're not getting?"

"At the moment? Yes, absolutely. Would it help if I said 'please'?" Ethan pushed his hips into Rupert's trying to make his desire clear. He needed the... reassurance of sex. He was hurting without it.

Rupert kissed him, long and deep, but then pulled back. "I promise we'll cover everything, verbal and non-verbal, but later. First we have to get rid of the living room full of people we have."

That brought back some sense into Ethan's head in a hurry. Poor Megan was out there trapped with the girl who had hurt her so. He pulled away from Rupert and nodded. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

Rupert looked at him searchingly for a moment before answering. When he did, it wasn't what Ethan wanted to hear. "Follow your instincts."

Now was not the time for Rupert to decline to take control. It was Ethan's instincts that got him into this, or at least, it certainly hadn't been his logical thought. He folded his arms. "My instincts tell me to obey you implicitly until things feel right again."

The faintest of smiles flitted over Rupert's mouth for a brief second before his expression grew serious again. "Well, my instructions are to go out there and do what you have to in order to make this right."

Panic surged through Ethan. "You told me I didn't have to apologise!"

"Not to Jade, no."

He closed his eyes and made himself breathe. "Are you going to take her home?"

"I wasn't planning on it," Rupert replied. "She seems quite capable of using the tube."

"If she's as traumatised as you suggest..." What the hell was he doing? Let the bitch go home alone; it was what she deserved. Ethan turned and headed for the door.

"We can ask Xander to make sure she gets home all right," Rupert said softly before Ethan reached his goal.

"Thank you," he murmured as he turned the handle and went out.


	15. Chapter 15

"Alone at last," Giles said dryly as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

Ethan's answering smile was rather lacklustre. It had been a long and stressful evening for him, that was obvious. He sat down on the bed and sighed.

"You did well tonight," Giles told him.

True to his word, Ethan hadn't apologised to Jade, but he had asked Xander to see her home after bluntly giving instructions for a long soak in the bath and a change of clothes. Buffy and Dawn had left quietly with Xander. Ethan had disappeared for some time into the study with Megan, while Giles rescued Gwydion from the bedroom and put together something approaching tea.

Giles wasn't sure what Ethan had said to Megan, but it had been clear during their meal that tension was eased, and after the two of them had taken Gwydion for his evening walk and returned, they were laughing and joking together again, which was a relief.

Ethan's smile now seemed slightly warmer. "I tried."

"Told you you could do it." Giles crossed over and sat down beside Ethan on the bed.

Ethan immediately turned and wrapped his arms around Giles, wearily slumping against him. "I would very much like to be in bed with you."

Giles slid his arms around Ethan in turn with a sigh, soaking up the feel of his presence. "I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be right now."

Eyes closed, Ethan moved his face towards Giles like a blind kitten seeking the teat. "Please," he breathed.

Unable to resist, even if he had wanted to, Giles kissed him, first light and teasing, but quickly growing deep and heated.

Ethan moaned, the sound resonant with need. He wriggled on the bed to get closer to Giles, his hands moving urgently on Giles' chest, legs, back... anywhere Ethan could reach.

Laughter bubbled up as Giles continued to kiss Ethan. "Easy, love," he murmured, trying to calm him between kisses. "I'm not going anywhere."

When Ethan pulled back, his expression was intense. "If you want me to go slow, Rupert, you'd better restrain me."

"Do you want me to?"

He looked almost pained. "I just want you. Urgently. Christ, Ripper. Please."

The thought of losing himself in Ethan definitely was more than a little appealing to Giles just then. "How fond are you of those clothes?"

Ethan looked down at himself as if he'd never seen the garments before. "I'm really not."

Grinning and feeling what Ethan would dub as Ripperish, Giles ran his hands along Ethan's garments and murmured the familiar Latin, causing them to fall away, their stitches unravelled.

He watched as Ethan, still looking down at his own body, shuddered, causing the strips of now useless cloth to drop to the bed and floor. Then suddenly Ethan was moving, getting up on his knees on the bed and pretty much throwing himself at Giles.

Giles felt his mouth covered and a hard, desperate tongue thrust inside.

That would be difficult to resist at the best of times, and Giles didn't even try. He wrapped his arms around Ethan's body and lost himself in his lover.

Without breaking the lock on Giles' mouth, Ethan scrabbled over him, straddling. Giles' position on the edge of the bed was too precarious to easily support him with his writhing lover thrusting against him, and Giles' hands were too busy running over Ethan's body to prop his own. So it was no surprise to find himself falling backwards onto the covers, Ethan following him down, lips still fiercely kissing.

The way Ethan was going, this could be over very quickly. Trying to gain some control and slow them down enough to make it good for both of them, Giles rolled over so that Ethan was underneath him. His naked lover squirmed, wrapping his arms and legs around Giles and pushing up as he made impatient noises into the kiss.

Giles pulled away enough to speak and move Ethan properly onto the mattress, grabbing his arms and pinning them to the bed over his head. "Seems you're right," Giles said, slipping unconsciously back into the way of speaking he'd had in his youth. "I do have to restrain you."

Ethan stared intently up at Giles, his breathing pronounced. "Please, just for these few minutes, let me be free." He sounded as if he were refusing to be bound, but Giles knew Ethan and knew what he was asking for.

Not wanting to leave Ethan even for the short time it would take to find appropriate physical restraints, Giles used his magic to encircle Ethan's wrists and hold his arms pinned to the bed. "Better?"

Ethan nodded and closed his eyes. "Please. I need you. I've needed you all day, so very badly."

With another few words of Latin, Giles turned the light off the lazy way. He then lowered his body until he was lying flush against Ethan; the only thing separating them were the clothes he still wore. He initiated another long lingering kiss, channelling his magic into the action so that it poured into Ethan with every little movement.

Ethan, surprisingly, remained very still, kissing back of course, but not squirming or rubbing or otherwise trying to speed up events. The kiss and the magic seemed to be soothing him. So Giles continued on with just that for quite a while, in no hurry if Ethan wasn't.

After all, they had all night.

Or rather they had what was left of the night, Giles thought, when Ethan stirred beneath him, and he realised they'd both been asleep for some time.

"Rupert...?" came a rather querulous complaint. "My arms hurt, and I'm cold all down my sides."

"Sorry, love." He quickly released the magical restraints and got Ethan under the covers. "That wasn't exactly the seduction I had planned."

Ethan cuddled near, seeking warmth, slipping his arms under Giles' clothes. "It was enough, for then."

Giles pulled him close with a contented sigh. "Good. Not like kissing you is a chore."

Ethan nuzzled closer still, and said, "It's probably best we waited, anyhow."

"Oh?" Giles asked, sensing that there was more than just a need for sleep behind that observation.

"Made you a promise last night," Ethan said sleepily. "Best I keep it before... well, just before."

It took a few seconds to remember what promise Ethan was referring to. "You have something to tell me?" he asked softly when he finally did.

He felt Ethan nod against him. "Something that happened yesterday. Well, a lot happened actually, all of which I should tell you about. Including a couple of things I'm pleased with myself over and hope you will be as well. But..." Ethan sighed heavily. "Something bad too."

"You know you can tell me anything," Giles encouraged, his hands automatically moving over Ethan's skin in an effort to soothe him.

"Do you want the whole story or just the me buggering it up again part?"

"The whole story?" Giles asked, hoping to make Ethan feel less like he was doing a strange sort of confession in the darkness here.

Another nod. "Well, we went to P&G Holdings and discovered there was no one there. In order to break in, I used the ventilation shafts. They were narrow. I, um, turned myself into a fox."

Giles couldn't help but frown. "Are you all right?" he asked, his hands running over Ethan's body again.

"I'm fine. It went well. I won't say I wasn't nervous, but it wasn't anything like the last time. I think with a little more practice I could actually enjoy the shape, like Ian does his crow." Ethan paused then pointed out as if fact, "That bothers you."

"It worries me a little," Giles admitted, remembering finding Ethan as a fox on the Heath. He found himself tightening his embrace a little more. "Vivid first impressions."

"I'm sorry." Ethan pressed the side his face to Giles' shoulder. "When things are more settled, perhaps we should both practice together to become more at ease with the form. It might be wise for us to be comfortable with it, don't you think? You never know when being small and sneaky could come in useful."

"This is true." Giles still, however, wasn't comfortable with the idea.

"I'm a cute fox," Ethan claimed and poked Giles with his finger. "You just haven't seen me at my best."

"Had a mirror with you in the ventilation shaft, did you?" Giles teased, letting Ethan lighten the mood.

"My fur is long and sleek, my tail bushy, and my eyes bright. I am a paragon of vulpines." Ethan sniggered and then sighed a little. "Well, we searched the room, and this is where the bad bit comes. Prepare yourself, dearheart. I walked straight into a trap."

Giles wasn't quite able to keep himself from tensing, despite the proof of Ethan's wellbeing he held in his arms. "What kind of trap?"

"One created especially for me. Aren't I a lucky boy?"

"Chaos," Giles breathed, putting the pieces together.

"Stickiest Chaos. Not the void type that bastard on the train threw at us, but my old school of magic and designed to cling like goose burrs. There was so much of it, Rupert. It took me over. It... it made me similar to how I was on that day I performed the Ritual of Abreaction in the spare room and..." Ethan seemed to run out of words.

Giles waited, but no more seemed forthcoming. "And...?" Giles nudged gently, letting just a little bit of his magic flow through his fingertips where they touched Ethan in a gesture of comfort.

"I assaulted Xander."

He hadn't been expecting to hear that. "What?" Giles asked, his alarm showing through. He tried to remember if Xander had looked disturbed when they had come in earlier. He didn't think so, but he'd been so focused on Ethan at the time that he couldn't be sure. Ethan made a small noise and tried to turn in Giles' arms. Giles tightened his grip, holding him in place. "Ethan, talk to me."

Tensed, but not fighting the restrictive hold, Ethan asked quietly, "What do you want to know?"

"What happened."

"I... kissed him. Touched him. Got halfway through a spell to remove his will, a spell I had no idea I could even remember. Rupert, truly, I'm so sorry. He was very forgiving. Afterwards."

That thankfully didn't sound nearly as bad as Giles had been imagining. "You say you got halfway through a spell. What made you stop?"

"He kept saying your name. It brought me back to myself, enough to fight it anyway."

"My name made you stop?" Giles supposed that was only to be expected, but it still made him feel warm, that he could help Ethan resist even when he wasn't there.

Ethan inhaled loudly through his nose before speaking. "No, I made me stop. And it was hard, Rupert. Really sodding hard and painful, getting that stuff out me. It left me paralysed for a while. But your name made me want to stop."

Giles felt his lips curve up into a smile. "You made you stop," he repeated.

"Yes." Ethan chuckled sheepishly. "I did. And you know what, Ripper? I don't think I'm a danger anymore. Not in that way. I don't think my old addiction can touch me now... Are you upset about Xander?"

He shook his head. "If he's not upset, I don't see it's my place to be so on his behalf." Still caught up in the knowledge that Ethan had met this crisis and vanquished it, Giles leant in and kissed him.

When the kiss drew to a natural close, Ethan pulled back a little. "While I was still trying to remember how muscles worked, Xander searched the offices. Most of their stuff had been cleared out, obviously, but he did find an interesting thing when some instinct told him to crawl about on the floor and look under places."

"Yes, well, I guess it pays to leave no stone unturned, or desk unlooked under," Giles said. "What did he find?"

"A metal coin with a symbol on it, a light enchantment too. The symbol, or at least one bit of it, seemed fami– Oh."

"What?"

Ethan moved closer, perhaps seeking comfort. "The design on the coin is quite complex, but part of it... part of it is the same symbol that was embroidered on the bag that held the void-Chaos."

"Oh, indeed." That certainly put to rest any doubts that this wasn't an organised attack against them. Still, any new bit of information was another lead they could research, another chance to find the information they were looking for. "Does Xander still have the coin?"

"It's downstairs with the rest of the stuff we found. The only other thing that looks at all important to me, however, is a poster of Ursa Major. I asked Xander to take it down when I saw properly what it was." Ethan made a move to sit up, and when Giles didn't stop him, straightened up fully. "I could go and get them if you like. I quite fancy a cuppa."

"All right," Giles said, moving to get up as well.

Ethan reached out and put on a sidelight, and as he started to pull on some warm clothes, Giles noticed a few new bruises had appeared on Ethan's body, but nothing serious.

"These from expelling the Chaos?" he asked gently, sliding his fingers over the darkened flesh.

Ethan looked down at himself. "Hmm, no. I achieved that using water and a diverted electrical current. I suppose I got these marks while under its influence though. The Chaos, that is. I wasn't in complete control of my body, or indeed, anything, for a while."

The pictures those words painted were not pretty, and Giles found himself wrapping his arms around Ethan again, needing to feel him safe and alive against him.

Ethan stroked his hair. "I'm fine, dearheart, don't fret. I'm better than I've been since Hyde Park, in fact. I won single-handed against an attack designed just for me, you've forgiven all my sins, and I'm in your arms. Truly, I'm fine. More than, really."

"This is where you should be," Giles murmured, speaking from some instinct that insisted the world was only right when Ethan was with him.

"Yes," Ethan answered simply.

They kissed softly before pulling back. Ethan finished pulling on his clothes and put the rags Giles' spell had made of his earlier clothing into the bin. Tiptoeing, they opened the door and crept down the stairs.

"This reminds me of sneaking out of my room at night when I was young," Giles offered near the bottom of the stairs, struck by the sudden nostalgia.

"For a midnight feast with your dorm mates?" Ethan asked in a whisper that was probably unnecessary downstairs. He grinned at Giles before heading into the kitchen.

"No, this was at home." Giles flicked on the light as he followed Ethan. "I was always sneaking out of my bed and downstairs to get a book or a snack, but what I did the most was eavesdrop on my father, listen to him dealing with Council business."

Ethan yawned conspicuously. Giles could tell from the twinkle in Ethan's eye that it was quite deliberate. "Thrilling childhood you had, Rupert," Ethan said before filling the kettle under the tap.

"Listening to him discuss the best way to take out a vampire nest or deal with a demon infestation made for quite interesting eavesdrop material," Giles insisted as he moved to get down two mugs. "And there was the brief time he had a Slayer," he added quietly.

That stopped Ethan halfway between sink and counter. "He had a Slayer?"

Giles nodded, remembering the shy, dark-skinned girl with the eyes that were always sad even when she smiled. "Her name was Alisha."

Ethan frowned slightly. He plugged in the kettle and switched it on before walking close to Giles and slipping his arms around him. "You never said."

"It's never come up," he replied, half-shrugging as he wrapped his arms around Ethan in turn.

"She died. Obviously. Did you meet her at all?"

"Oh yes. She and my father travelled quite a bit, going to wherever there was need of a Slayer, but between those trips she stayed at ours."

Ethan stroked Giles' cheek. "An early crush?" he asked gently.

"What?" Giles chuckled softly as he shook his head. "I was too young to be interested that way in girls, or boys for that matter, when she was with us, but," he heard the wistfulness in his own voice, "she was always nice to me. For an only child, it was a bit like suddenly acquiring an older sister."

"Until she was killed." Ethan's lips flattened. "Was your father very upset?"

Giles sighed, not liking to remember that time, when his entire world seemed to take a turn for the sad and confusing. "He became very quiet. Everyone did."

Ethan shivered and shuffled closer, saying nothing.

"You know," Giles began slowly, speaking as a sudden insight became clear, "I think I reacted much the same way when Buffy... When I lost my Slayer. You keep going because you have to, but there's nothing left remotely resembling enthusiasm."

Soft fingers stroked Giles' face as Ethan frowned in concern. "But your father still had you, surely..."

"The son he had to see grow up and trained to go through the same trauma he was dealing with." Giles smiled slightly, suddenly understanding his father in a way he never had before. "He loved me. I never doubted his feelings for me, but the responsibility of what he'd done and what he had to do always seemed to weigh him down."

"Hardly a surprise," Ethan said darkly. Giles wondered if he too was reassessing his long held opinion of Giles' family.

"Things are different now than they were back then. A Slayer's death is no longer a foregone conclusion. Each has a chance at whatever kind of life she wants. There's hope for the future." Giles closed his eyes, vividly remembering his father's rare smile. "I think he would have approved."

The kettle clicked, and Ethan kissed Giles softly before turning to deal with it. "I can't say I really care for the past much."

"It had its moments," Giles said, watching as Ethan went about the minutiae of making tea. "But the present does seem to outshine it."

"Even after the last day or so?" Ethan turned with the mugs of tea in his hands.

"Even then." He moved closer and took one of the mugs from Ethan. "You're here."

Ethan smiled, but then looked down, nursing his mug in both hands. "Does it ever hit you sometimes how little time we might have?"

"I plan on having a lifetime with you," Giles replied in a soft voice, but letting his determination show in his tone. "We may not be twenty-something any more, but we've still got a few decades left in us."

"They want us dead, or separate and darkened." Ethan breathed in shakily. "Sometimes I feel like every moment I'm not with you is a wasted one."

Thinking of what Ian had told him, Giles asked, "Is that what you need from me? To be with you more?"

Ethan seemed to twitch a little. "You need your freedom. My company gets oppressive after a while. I do understand."

Giles set down his mug and took Ethan's from him, putting it on the counter as well. Then he reached out and took Ethan's hands in his own and met and held his gaze. "What I asked is what do you need from me, love, not what you think I need from you."

"I'm not sure I can differentiate," Ethan said uneasily. "Really. It's all very well for me to say I want to be with you every minute of the day, but when my doing so causes you... discomfort... Well, then I don't."

"So my discomfort is more important than yours?" Giles asked gently. He was beginning to see how this could be a problem, just as Ian had warned.

"I think it's more your discomfort _is_ my discomfort. I tend to feel it as if it were my own." Ethan smiled softly. "We find an acceptable compromise, don't we? I thought things were reasonably comfortable."

"Except that you feel... discomfort when I'm not with you." Giles sighed and decided to get to the heart of why he was asking. "I called Devon yesterday."

Ethan pulled back a little, his body tense. "About me," he said. It wasn't a question.

"About us," Giles corrected. "I've been as much a part of the problem as you, love."

"Really?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Been cursing young girls, have you?"

"I've been fighting the bond, or so Ian informed me."

"Ah. Yes, you have rather." Ethan reclaimed his mug and took a sip of hot tea. "You don't normally talk to Ian."

Giles leant back against the counter and reached for his own mug. "He was the one who answered the phone, but you're right. I've never really had many conversations with Ian. I'd almost think he was deliberately avoiding me if that made any kind of sense whatsoever."

"It makes perfect sense. I'm sure interacting with you is quite painful for him." Ethan said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't, however the most obvious thing to Giles. He shook his head, trusting his puzzled expression would get Ethan to explain further. "Rupert, think about it. He is the surviving half of the previous pair to us. The 'me' in that pairing. I have no concept of how he goes on. Really, I don't." He gave Giles an unhappy look. "I couldn't."

Oh. Feeling unusually dense for not figuring that out before having it explained, Giles focused now on dealing with the feelings that spelling it out had obviously stirred within Ethan. He held out his free hand. "You won't have to. I promise."

Ethan took the hand and squeezed it. "I'll be holding you to that," he said with a ragged smile. "So Ian told you to stop fighting?"

"Essentially, yes. Also to not let you hide from me."

"Ah. Hence the no more secrets." Finishing his tea - Ethan always had been able to drink it more or less straight from the kettle - he put his mug down in the sink and moved closer to Giles. "So can we do this? I don't want... Well, I know this old face isn't what it used to be, but I'd rather you didn't start hating the sight of it."

Giles stared at Ethan's face, thinking about how much it meant to him to be able to have the privilege of doing so, of how waking up to Ethan every morning made him feel. "I don't think that will ever be a problem," he said, voice husky with emotion. Hate the sight of him? Just the possibility of not being able to see Ethan again made his heart ache.

Ethan pushed his arms under Giles' and tugged him close. He nuzzled their noses together before asking, "So what's your plan?"

"Plan?" Giles echoed blankly.

"You don't have one?"

"I don't let you get away with keeping things from me, and you don't let me get away with pulling back?"

Appearing uneasy, Ethan nonetheless nodded. "It's a deal."

"But you don't like it," Giles said softly, resting his forehead against Ethan's. He had thought his resolve to try and stop fighting the growing bond between them would have made Ethan happy. Obviously he'd been mistaken.

Ethan gave him a pained look. "I'm none too keen on the idea of forcing you to be with me when you don't want to be, no. Did you really expect I'd relish that task?"

"Oh, love..." Giles moved back enough to set down his mug and then took Ethan's face between his hands, kissing him. "I want to be with you. There's not a time I can think of when I wouldn't be happier having you here. It's just..." He sighed and tried to come up with a way to explain his feelings. It wasn't easy; this sort of thing never was for him.

After a few moments, Ethan gently prompted, "Just?"

Giles sighed again and forced the word out, whether it was the exact right one or not. "Responsibilities."

Ethan's face screwed up in thought. "No, dearheart. That really won't wash. I can't see what on earth responsibilities have to do with your urge to be people-free every once in a while."

"It's not that." Giles waved Ethan's words away with a sharp gesture. "I mean, yes, sometimes I need some time away from everything, but that doesn't include you. You've given me my silence when I've needed it, even when you've stayed in the same room. That's not what makes me get... skittish."

"Tell me then?"

Giles felt the urge to pace as he tried to find the words to explain, but knew that pulling away from Ethan right now might be misconstrued. He stayed where he was and concentrated on fighting his seemingly ingrained reticence. "For the last decade at least, my life has been about my responsibilities, with the Watchers and my Slayer -  _Slayers_ now. Everything else I did took a backseat to that. It had to."

"Does being with me really interfere with your responsibilities?" Ethan asked then paused. "Or... is this about the Prophecy? Is this you not taking yourself, your own needs, seriously enough again?"

"No. Well... maybe?" Giles shook his head, and unable to keep still any longer, pulled away and began pacing the length of the kitchen. "You don't interfere with my responsibilities. On the contrary, you've been a great help, but the bond, the limits it's forcing on me... I'm afraid..." He trailed off again, some superstitious part of him not wanting to put his fears into words and make them that much more real.

"You're afraid that being with me, the bond and being part of a prophecy, will mean you can't be there for one of your myriad children, or the Council, or somesuch other bollocks." Ethan folded his arms almost angrily and then immediately unfolded them again and tried to reach out to Giles. He said softly, almost pleadingly, "Why can't you understand that now your greatest responsibility is us? No," he raised his hand, "Not me, us. Who we are and what we're to do. By fighting the bond, you're neglecting your most important... duty." He smiled wryly with the last word, apparently finding it ironic in some way.

"I'm trying," Giles said, moving closer to Ethan once again. "I just... it isn't easy to change a lifetime's way of thinking and feeling." He stopped just within touching distance and met Ethan's gaze as he forced out words that were never easy for him to say. "Help me?"

"In any way I can," Ethan said seriously. "Starting with this." He pulled Giles tight to him again and started to kiss him.

As persuasion methods went, it was certainly among the most pleasant ones that had been used on him. Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan and kissed him back.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Then...** _

So Deirdre had been right, and Ripper was back in town.

Apparently the Giles clan was spending this Yuletide with the family matriarch at her posh git townhouse. Ethan pushed back further into the shadows under the tree as he watched. Across the wide road, Ethan's ex, dressed in something cringingly close to tweed, helped his prig of a father carry the Christmas shopping bags in through the open door of the house. The grandmother herself, tall and upright, stood by the wrought iron railings and supervised.

It hurt, seeing him like that. Seeing that boy, so very much a 'Rupert', like a mockery of his lover, his Ripper. Hair trimmed short and neat, respectable clothing, and the only leather Ripper now wore was on his feet in the form of plain loafers. His very posture proclaimed him a good boy, polite and subservient to his father, respectful to the distaff... It was sickening. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

How could Rupert leave him for this? Yes, there was money obviously, possessions, but what the hell did they matter? Anything Ethan and Ripper had wanted, they'd got, hook or crook style. They'd never lacked. Oh Christ, Ethan missed him so badly it was like shards of glass in his guts.

Ethan felt feverish despite the cold, as if he were burning up with this acid need inside him. He might have guessed it would be Christmas he saw Rupert again. It had been a Christmas, after all, that had seen Ripper make the decision to drop out, come to London permanently and live with Ethan. Bloody fool Ethan had been to think that meant forever.

Randall had died, and Ripper had left, and the anniversary of Randall's death had come and gone. Ethan had lurked in the cold cemetery the whole day hoping to see Ripper, but all that arrived were flowers, delivered by a bloke in a van. A card signed 'R' and no words, but Ethan knew the curl of that 'R', the press of the pen in the cardboard.

He still had it. Wasn't any good to Randall, after all.

Ethan had something else too, something small and silver and wrapped in tissue. It was a... peace offering? A promise? A token? Ethan didn't know, not really, but it was Christmas, and he was looking at Rupert for the first time in over a year, and well, it was a gift of sorts.

His Mum had died last month. No loss there for him or the world, but in her bits and pieces, he'd found a box of his nan's things. Trinkets and charms, Rom treasures of no great value, but he'd seen them around a lot when he'd been a nipper. She'd told him stories of her travelling days. His Dad, ashamed of his own 'filthy' gypsy blood, had forbidden any mention of it in the house, but Ethan had gone to Nan's for comfort after the beatings or other mistreatments, and she'd told him the stories then to distract him from his tears.

Soon as he'd seen the silver hoop with the strange markings, he'd thought of Ripper. Course, now he could see that Ripper was gone, and this clean, well brought up boy would never wear an earring. But maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to get them talking in a friendly fashion. If Ethan could only get him away from his bastard family anyway as Rupert's father almost certainly had a shoot to kill policy regarding Ethan, metaphorically anyway.

He would do anything, make any compromise, to get his Ripper back. Because without him, Ethan had nothing, was nothing, and saw nothing in his future.

He watched and cowered further back. The last bag in his hand, Rupert looked around the road, almost as if sensing something. Ethan knew the look on his ex's face, that alert, strong, almost angry vigilance, and Ethan knew that his Ripper was still in there, almost-tweed or no almost-tweed. He clasped his hand over his mouth and prayed he wouldn't be spotted. He wasn't ready.

Ironically, it was the father who saved Ethan, clapping a hand on Rupert's shoulder and destroying his concentration. There was laughter, yes, laughter, and genuine smiles, and Ethan felt like crying. Rupert wasn't meant to belong. He wasn't meant to have a family, not without Ethan.

Father and son went inside, still laughing, and Ethan prepared to move from his hiding place, but the grandmother was still out there. He realised with a shock that she was staring directly at him. He moved back and almost completely behind the tree, but she continued to stare. Then she started to walk over.

Buggeration.

There seemed no point in running, not now. Might as well brazen it out. After all, she wouldn't know who he was. Ethan stepped out from behind the tree and looked directly at the old woman as she arrived on the pavement. He folded his arms. "Yes? Can I help you?"

She snorted. "You'd be the Bad Influence, I presume. Ethan something. Don't bother lying. I saw the photographs." So much for anonymity. Her accent was plummy, and her attitude typical of formidable Knightsbridge dames.

He sneered. "And you'd be the Watcher. Oh whoops. That would be all of you."

Another snort. "Suppose you're missing him. Are you wanting him back, lad?" He didn't answer. This kind of directness was unexpected, as was, for some reason, the fact that he could see Ripper in her features. "It'd be kinder for the both of you if you'd be a good boy and bugger off. Rupert has moved on. His affections lie elsewhere now, and seeing you will only bring back that most painful of times for him."

Ethan was winded. He truly couldn't breathe. Moved on? Christ, no. Had Ethan really meant so very... little?

The old woman's expression softened, just a bit. "I know it hurts, lad. Life hurts. Sometimes we just have to buckle up tight and keep going no matter what's thrown in our path." She stepped closer, pinning him with a gaze that held all of Ripper's intensity and none of what Ethan had fondly thought of as love. "You have to let him go or you will hurt him irrevocably."

"I won't," he denied sullenly, but he was shaken by her intensity. "I would never..." But hadn't he already? It had been Ethan who had found the Eyghon ritual initially, Ethan who'd persuaded the group to try it out, Ethan who'd been the loudest voice encouraging them to try it again and again. "I..."

She just stared at him, apparently unblinking, until he looked down and away.

Defeated.

"I need him," he mumbled, all pride lost.

"I know," she said softly, stepping back again. "And I'm truly sorry, but he needs to be free of you to survive."

Ethan looked up. "I can change. I _have_ changed – look at me! No glitter, short hair. Please, let me see him. Give me a chance. No more bad magic, I promise." He was pathetic, a begging clown, and it didn't even achieve anything.

Slowly, sadly, the old woman shook her head. "The bad magic is in you, lad. You're... poison to him. I'm sorry. You must go now."

He couldn't hold her gaze. He tried, but his will was weak, and she had grey-green eyes that seemed to see into his sodding soul. All thought of threats or insults was absent. He just wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. He was broken inside, broken and empty.

Feeling inside his jacket pocket, he found for the silver hoop in its wrapping of tissue and thrust it at her. "It's for him. You can believe me or not, but I'd have done anythi–" He cut off his own words, fearing he would weep, and when the old woman took the tiny package from him, Ethan turned and ran.

***

_**Now...** _

"Star," Ethan said stubbornly. Giles could see he was becoming tight-lipped.

Megan folded her arms, the offending item sticking up behind them in a ruffle of gold lace and glitter. "I bought this fairy specially. I think she's lovely, and I don't get why you don't."

Giles sat in his chair, ostensibly going over yet more of the seemingly never ending stack of reports that were always on his desk lately, but he had been spending more time watching Megan and Ethan decorate their just purchased tree than actually working.

The two of them had been prettifying in perfect concert, until they'd got to the question of what to put on the top. That was the current topic of conversation, and Giles now gave up all pretence of working to watch the confrontation between his lover and their Slayer.

"It's perfectly hideous, the height of tacky. Put it in the bin like a good girl. The star is much more appropriate to Yuletide anyway."

Megan seemed to be as close to losing her temper as Giles had ever seen her. "She cost me ten pounds, and she is not tacky. And why can't you say 'Christmas' like a normal person anyway?"

"Because I'm not a Christian, sweet child. Now do what your Watcher says and get rid of that monstrosity. Weren't those fairies in Hyde Park enough to put you off the childish Tinkerbell thing?"

Sensing that this particular conversation was very close to degenerating to something that would ruin the afternoon for all of them, Giles stepped in to try to defuse the situation. "Even if real life encounters haven't put you off fairies, Megan, they have some of us. Why don't you use that fairy as the beginning of the decorations in your room and let us old mystics have something on top of the tree that doesn't bring back bad memories?"

"Just what is so Christian about a fairy? It's not an angel. I deliberately got a fairy, not an angel." But she was clearly submitting to inevitability despite her continued argument, since she placed the doll a few steps up the stairs.

Ethan, arms folded, remained thankfully silent, but he directed a grateful little smile towards Giles while Megan's back was turned. Ethan had always disliked such ornaments, fairies and angels both, and his hatred seemed just as strong and apparently unreasonable now.

"It has nothing to do with religion, Megan," Giles said, "so much as it does with situations like you encountered in Hyde Park." He smiled at her. "Humour a pair of old men."

Privately, he suspected the excuse of bad memories that he was giving Megan was the truth when it came to Ethan's antipathy, but Ethan had never shared the exact reason. Giles made a mental note to ask about it sometime.

Megan smiled, obviously relaxing. "How many times do I have to tell you both that you're not old. Anyone would think you were pushing ninety."

That made Ethan smile again, and he relaxed his arms, lifting a hand to lightly stroke Megan's hair, currently in a long tight plait. "Thank you," he murmured.

Every time Giles witnessed the open affection Ethan had for Megan, he was touched and a little awed. He had always suspected that Ethan had that capacity for caring, if given a chance with someone who didn't prejudge or dismiss him. Seeing it demonstrated always made Giles fall that little bit more in love with him. It also, in the back of his mind, made Giles feel just the slightest bit jealous. The same kind of closeness Ethan had with Megan existed between Giles and Buffy, but neither of them had ever been good at expressing it with the same ease.

Megan hugged Ethan then bounded over to hug Giles too. "I'm in too good a mood to sulk. This is going to be the best Christmas ever."

As he laughed and patted the girl's back, Giles caught a glimpse of Ethan's face over Megan's shoulder. Ethan seemed almost upset, but when he noticed Giles looking at him, he smiled, sending mentally, _'I'm being a sentimental old fool.'_

 _'Nothing wrong with being sentimental,'_ Giles sent back.

 _'That's debatable,'_ Ethan replied, his lips quirked.

Megan looked suspiciously between them. "You're doing it now, aren't you?" Ethan spluttered and turned away.

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"It's rude," Megan said, showing a touch of Kat's cheekiness, although her eyes dipped uncertainly after she'd said it.

Ethan's back was still turned. His voice was rich with humour as he said, "You just want to hear the porn, don't you, dear."

"There are some things that are meant to remain private," Giles put in. "This way at least, we don't have to get up and leave the room."

"No, I don't want to hear the porn," Megan said archly, all signs of hesitancy gone. She walked over to the study door behind which Giddy was trapped and scratching. "I hear the porn most mornings and many evenings, after all."

Smothering an embarrassed cough, Giles glanced at Ethan and sent, __'Soundproofing. As soon as the holidays are over, we're putting in soundproofing.'__

Ethan snorted as repressed giggles escaped. Turning around, he looked over at Megan. "If you're about to let the monster back in I want him controlled, at least until Rupert can have a few words with him about the sanctity of Yule evergreens."

Giles put aside his pile of folders and stood. "I'll handle it," he said as he crossed the room, brushing a hand against Ethan's back as he passed.

Megan stood aside, making way for Giles. "It's Giddy's Christmas too," she said. "Or is there some freaky British rule about no pets at-" she pronounced it exaggeratedly "-yuletide?"

"I know," Ethan replied, not arguing Megan's statement at all. "It's for all of us. There are no traditions about pets as far as I know, although I'm hardly the one to ask."

"Less British rule, more common sense," Giles replied as he sent a brief mental caress to Ethan. "Gwydion tends to get excited and isn't all that aware of his size or strength yet. He gets too rambunctious, and all the hard work you and Ethan have put into setting up and decorating the tree could be ruined. So a word or two to get him to keep a bit of distance will be prudent. As for traditions, they all have to start somewhere," he added as he reached for the door.

As Giles opened it, Ethan asked, "Are you suggesting we start some?"

"Gwydion, sit," Giles ordered before the young dog could run past him and do any damage. When Gwydion obeyed, he reached out and turned the dog's head towards the tree. "See that? That is a Christmas tree. You are not to go near it. Understand?"

Gwydion barked and tried to lick Giles' face. "I'll take that as a yes," Giles laughed, letting the dog go and straightening up again.

Turning back to Ethan, he said, "I think the traditions will be started whether we consciously try to do so or not, but yes. Aren't there things you'd like to do every year from now on?"

 _'Be with you,'_ Ethan sent immediately, his look intense. At least until Megan kicked his shin, at which point he glared at her. "I suggest the new tradition of Spank the Slayer."

Megan stuck her tongue out at him and headed over to where Gwydion had settled a few feet away from the tree. She knelt to make a fuss over him.

"Togetherness, certainly, is a tradition I think we should foster," Giles agreed aloud with Ethan's unspoken suggestion. "Although I don't think that will be one we'll have problems establishing or remembering."

Ethan moved close and stepped behind Giles to wrap his arms around him. He rested his chin upon Giles' shoulder and together they watched the Slayer, the dog, and the Christmas tree. "It's better than telly," Ethan murmured, mentally sending, _'I like this. A lot. It's lovely having you home with us during the day.'_

 _'It's lovely being home with you,'_ Giles replied, relishing the feeling of Ethan's body against his back. _'I'm glad you asked me to stay.'_

He was actually quite content, more so than he would have predicted, not going into work simply because Ethan had asked him not to. The twitchiness and worry about things not getting done had failed to materialise, and he wasn't quite sure why.

Ethan suddenly giggled. "What?" Giles asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

"I think we should have goose for Christmas dinner," Ethan said, his tone had an arch edge to it.

"And this decision is cause for laughter?"

"I was thinking of a particular flock."

Giles could immediately see where Ethan's mind had gone. "I'm not helping you steal one of Keri's geese."

"Oh, I think I could manage that by myself." For a fraction of a second, Giles thought he could feel fur against his cheek where Ethan was nuzzling.

"And how would you explain this to Keri?"

"That would be your job."

"Ethan?" Megan asked uncertainly, straightening up.

Ethan chuckled. "I'm only kidding, sweetness. I wouldn't really chomp on one of Keri's malignant fowl. They'd give me indigestion. I bet she does herself though."

"I've never seen her actually eat," Giles put in with a completely straight face. "It's possible that she doesn't."

"That could explain a lot." Ethan tightened his grip around Giles' waist, pressing into his arse in a way that made Giles rather wish Megan wasn't home. "How about suckling pork, roasted to perfection, with seasoned crackling."

"You're not taking one of Keri's pigs either."

Ethan giggled by his ear. "Spoilsport. So what are we having then?"

Giles thought about it, leaning back slightly against Ethan. "Either goose or suckling pork would be appropriate, from a legitimate source. Assuming, of course, one of us can figure out how to cook them."

"The Americans are bound to want turkey," Ethan said. Giles wasn't sure what Ethan was doing over his shoulder, but Megan gave him a pointed look.

"Turkey's boring - I want something British."

Giles chuckled at the girl's answer. "Would a Christmas goose be British enough for you?"

"Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat," Megan chanted. "Please put a penny in the old man's hat."

"This old man demands something considerably bigger than a penny for Christmas," Ethan said, his hands moving absently over Giles' upper belly. "But yes, goose. Providing someone who isn't me cooks it. There's a knack, I believe, to stop it being greasy."

"Don't you mean 'yuletide'?" Megan teased, throwing a bauble at Ethan, who ducked down behind Giles, the movement causing Giles to shift sufficiently for the ornament hit him on the temple.

"Oops," Megan said, bringing her hand to her mouth to repress a giggle.

"Ouch," Giles said faintly, reaching up to rub at the spot where he'd been hit. He did his best to look stern. Gwydion rose to his feet and trotted after the fallen bauble. He sniffed it then pushed it forward with his nose.

Megan looked chagrined. "Sorry. Uh, maybe I could make you a cup of tea to make up for nearly braining you with a glitterball?"

"Nearly braining?" Giles asked wryly then noticing what Gwydion was doing. He moved from Ethan's arms to take the bauble from the dog before he could bite it and hurt himself.

Gwydion yapped enthusiastically, bouncing up on his hind legs to paw at Giles. Clearly the dog thought the bauble was a ball to be thrown for him. "Sorry, boy," Giles told the puppy, reaching down to scratch his ears. "This isn't one of your toys." But it did give him an idea for a suitable revenge. "I'm sure Megan would be happy to take you to the park and throw your ball for you."

As Megan opened her mouth to object, Ethan said quickly. "I promise we won't turn the lights on for the first time until you get back. Not-scouts honour."

The Slayer relaxed. "Okay. And then you won't have to talk in your heads for a while."

"Go on," Giles encouraged. "Get the urge to throw things worked out of your system."

Megan got her coat and affixed the leash to an increasingly excited Gwydion. Very quickly, they were out of the door and gone. When Giles looked back into the room, he found Ethan crouched near the tree, neatening up those decorations they'd chosen not to use and extraneous packaging material.

"Alone at last," he commented, admiring the view as Ethan's current position pulled his trousers tight over his arse.

Ethan grinned over at him. "So tell the truth now. What do you think of the mighty pine here?"

"Very festive. You and Megan did a wonderful job decorating it."

"Not too overdone?" Ethan asked. He knelt properly and started to primp the lower branches.

"It's fine." Giles waited a moment, but when Ethan continued to focus on the tree, said, "Ethan?"

"Mmm?" A blue and gold star was moved from one branch to another.

"You did catch the fact that we're alone?"

"Yes... oh." He turned and smirked at Giles. "Wanting something are we?"

Giles gave Ethan a heated smile. "What's the point of working from home if we don't take advantage of the ability to stop and... reconnect?"

Walking on his knees, Ethan moved over to Giles, a cheeky smile on his face. "Reconnecting, eh? Are you sure you wouldn't rather shag?"

"Well, if you insist..."

Stopping in front of Giles, Ethan grinned up at him. He put his hands on Giles' hips. "Your order this afternoon, sir?"

Giles reached out and ran his fingers through Ethan's hair. "Surprise me."

"House special? Coming right up, sir." Chuckling, Ethan pressed his lips to the front of Giles' trousers. Just the thought of having Ethan's lips around his cock was enough to make Giles harden, arousal and anticipation thrumming in his blood.

Ethan nuzzled at the growing erection through the trousers and then carefully pulled down the zip. His eyes were closed, and as he pushed all the clothing down and out of the way, he moved his face in. Giles' cock knocked frustratingly against Ethan's cheek as Ethan licked over Giles' belly.

"Testing my patience?" Giles asked, aware of the way his voice had deepened with what Ethan was doing, with his desire for what he wanted Ethan to do.

"Hardly," Ethan mumbled, his lips at the edge of Giles' hair. "If I were, I wouldn't be doing this, would I?" He extended his tongue and licked wetly up Giles' entire length and then kissed the head softly.

Giles' eyes fluttered closed at that first touch. It was always like this with Ethan, always so intense that a single caress could send him flying. "No one touches me like you do," he murmured, sliding his fingers through Ethan's hair.

Ethan gave a grunt that Giles could easily interpret as something along the lines of 'glad to hear it'. Ethan couldn't talk as he was sucking on the head of Giles' cock, working his tongue over the sensitive underside. One of Ethan's hands circled the base of the shaft, the other dug nails into Giles' arsecheek. The slight pain only enhanced the pleasure that Ethan was giving him, and Giles could feel a groan rumble up from his chest under the assault.

Ethan's eyes were closed as he moved up and down, the slightest tingle of his magic coating Giles' cock together with his spit. The movement was steady but unhurried, allowing a slow burning passion to grow within Giles, tensing his muscles. He could let Ethan continue like this; there were few things that matched coming in Ethan's mouth, but just now, Giles found himself wanting those few things. Wanting it all. Consequently, he tugged gently on Ethan's hair, pulling him away from his cock.

"Can we perhaps see what's next on the menu?"

Ethan raised his eyebrow. "Ready for the main course perhaps, sir?"

"I'm ready for you," Giles replied, tugging lightly on Ethan's shoulder and urging him to stand up so Giles could put his mouth on him.

Ethan moved smoothly up and began to lick and kiss at Giles' lips. Giles responded by grabbing onto the back of Ethan's neck and ravaging his mouth, his tongue mimicking what he wanted to be doing with other body parts.

Moaning, clinging with one hand as if the fierceness of the grip Giles had on him might topple him otherwise, Ethan opened his mouth and let Giles do as he would. With his other hand, Ethan returned to Giles' spit-slicked cock and worked it.

Giles pulled Ethan impossibly closer. He wanted to push him down on the sofa –- or up against a wall, he wasn't picky -– and fuck him senseless. But the tiny bit of his brain that refused to relax control kept reminding him that would be... risky.

A consideration that didn't seem to be in any part of Ethan's brain, judging by the way his hand seemed to be doing its best to drive Giles wild, sending ripple after ripple of magic through Giles' body. It made it difficult to think, to track down the thought that was niggling at him, and after another moment of Ethan's actions, he forgot why he wanted to. Forgot everything, but maybe his name and his lover's, and what he wanted to do to him.

Growling against Ethan's mouth, Giles shoved him up against the nearest wall.

The impact pushed the breath from Ethan's body with a grunt, and he momentarily released Giles to press his hands back against the wall and regain his balance. Then his hands were at his own belt, hurriedly unfastening.

Giles dived in to devour his mouth again, unable to keep away. He heard Ethan's trousers drop to the floor, then Ethan's hands returned to Giles' cock, holding it against his own and squeezing. Giles let him for as long as he could stand it, but then roughly pulled Ethan's hand away and spun him around, pressing up against Ethan's bare arse.

Ethan grunted. "God, Ripper." With his hands flat against the wall, he spread his legs and pushed his arse back, wiggling so that Giles' cock slipped between the cheeks. "Please."

"Yes," Giles growled, the word barely understandable as he pushed his way into Ethan's body using only just enough magic to keep from doing damage.

Ethan's fingers formed claws against the wall. "Oh, oh..."

Giles didn't even pause to let either of them catch their breath; he couldn't, not with the urgency he was feeling. He fucked Ethan hard and fast, his physical awareness narrowing to just that act and the feel of moving in the warmth and tightness of Ethan's body. But beyond the physical, Giles never lost the knowledge that it was Ethan he was fucking. As their bodies interlinked, so did their magics. Even their minds were joined, although neither was sending coherent thoughts to the other, just impressions and fragmentary, barely formed concepts of love and desire.

There was nothing in the world like this, no experience that even came close. Every time they had sex, Giles found himself caught anew by the wonder and joy that imbued each touch, each movement. He could happily stay in this moment for the rest of his life, but nothing that was this intense, this overwhelming could last for long, and all too soon, Giles felt Ethan shudder through his climax, his own pulled out of him scant seconds later.

He slowly came back to himself and found that he was crushing Ethan into the wall with his sagging weight. Not that Ethan seemed to be objecting at all; his face was turned sideways and pressed against the wall, and he was smiling.

"Sorry," Giles muttered, even as he shakily took his weight back on his own feet, pulling away enough to give Ethan room for breathing.

"What for?" Ethan turned around and pulled Giles back close again. "That was blissful, dearheart."

Giles went willingly, sighing contentedly at the feel of Ethan's arms around him. "It was, wasn't it?" He heard the smugness in his own voice, but didn't bother to try to smother it.

Ethan kissed him softly. "This is blissful too," he admitted in a low voice. "Us, a warm fire... a Christmas tree. There's a voice inside me ridiculing my... adoration of all this."

"Tell the voice inside you to go soak its head," Giles said, kissing him again before pulling back enough to give them both room to deal with their trousers.

Their clothing restored to order, they cleaned the wall of incriminating evidence and moved over to the sofa to sit down together. Ethan immediately twisted to lay his arm over Giles' belly. "I know that you know and that it's utterly unnecessary to say it, but sometimes the compulsion to tell you how very much I love you is too strong to resist."

Giles smiled, wrapping an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "I know it, but it's not something I'll ever get tired of hearing. You never used to be able to say it that easily."

"It seems silly to be squeamish of the words now, don't you think? It would make as much sense to avoid saying that the sun was shining or that we need oxygen to live." Ethan chuckled dryly.

"We've grown," Giles acknowledged. "Grown up, grown old, however you want to phrase it. We've learned not to let complications get in the way of what is truly important."

That garnered him a long intense look from Ethan. "Sometimes..." He paused.

"Sometimes what?" Giles asked, brushing his fingers against Ethan's cheek

"Sometimes I start to panic a little. I feel... Ah." Ethan took a long, shuddering breath and gave Giles a familiar look of exasperation, proving that sometimes even now he still couldn't talk easily about the things he experienced at a deep level. "Fancy a cuppa and a mince pie?"

"In a little bit." Giles leant in and kissed Ethan, hoping to provide reassurance and courage both in the gesture. "Tell me?"

Ethan screwed up his face. "It's just what I said the other day really. We, this idyll, it could end tomorrow. We don't know. I feel like I should be paying attention to every single moment we're together, burning them into my memory in exact detail. Just in case."

"I can't promise you it won't end tomorrow," Giles said honestly, wishing that there were something different he could say. Pulling Ethan closer, he gave him what he could. "But I can promise that I'm not going anywhere without you, or letting you go anywhere without me." Their growing bond would make sure of that, and Giles found an unexpected comfort in the knowledge. He didn't want to be the one left behind again.

Ethan's finger ghosted over Giles' lips as he seemed to contemplate those words. Eventually he murmured, "I can see it, you know. Just recently, the last few days, I've been able to."

"What can you see?"

"The bond between us," Ethan answered. "It's a pattern, you see."

That thought rather enchanted Giles. "What does it look like?" he asked curiously.

"Most of the time it's just shimmering tendrils connecting us, barely there. They move as if in a breeze and are, hmm, mother of pearl, ghostly. But when we're really... connecting, during sex or talking like this..." Ethan moved his hand between them, his eyes focused on something Giles couldn't see. "They are beautiful, Rupert. Like spun opals." He smiled into Giles' eyes.

Giles couldn't help but smile back. "Does it make it more real? Being able to see it?"

Ethan's head tipped to one side. "Would you like to see, dearheart?"

"Very much."

Ethan pulled back and shut his eyes. As he had once before on that Devonshire clifftop, he took hold of Giles' hands and somehow gifted Giles with a temporary ability to see what Ethan called patterns. One second Giles saw nothing but what was normally there, the next second the room seemed full of threads and interwoven spectral complexes.

After some moments of confusion, Giles dragged his eyes away from the kaleidoscopic display around him and back to Ethan. Amidst the background of all the normal patterns that surrounded both of them, Giles was able to see what Ethan had been talking about. There were threads, bands, running between them, sparkling and reflecting the light around them in jewelled facets. Out of curiosity, Giles sent a pulse of his magic through their joined hands; the bands flared brightly, silver and green, becoming even more beautifully solid.

"Oh my..." he breathed.

"That's us, my love," Ethan said softly. "That's what we are together."

What could Giles say to that? There were no words, not for how this made him feel. All he could say was, "Ethan," and trust his feelings were obvious.

"Yes," Ethan whispered, and the bonds glowed red-gold as Giles felt a surge of magic and love coming from him. Giles was so full of joy at that moment he couldn't help but laugh aloud, which sent silver swirls along the threads that made up their bond.

They could have gone like this for hours, but all too soon Giles heard the key in the door and the yap of his dog from the lobby. With a wistful sigh, he pulled back and let go of Ethan's hands, the bond's pattern and all the others immediately disappearing from his sight. "Love you," he murmured, before the door opened, and they were beset upon by puppy and Slayer.

Gwydion bounded straight over to the tree, and Giles felt Ethan tense beside him, but the young dog stopped and sat down in front of the hearth before Giles had to say anything. Megan smiled cheekily at them as she settled into one of the armchairs. "Have a nice chat?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact we did," Giles replied, unable to keep himself from shooting another smile at Ethan.

"But see," Ethan pointed out, "we have waited for you to turn on the 17, Mountbatton Road illuminations. You are our MC here, after all."

Megan screwed up her face. "Master of Ceremonies?" she checked.

Ethan nodded. "You get to throw the switches."

"We'll sit here and... supervise," Giles said deadpan. He really didn't want to move though; sitting there with Ethan pressed up against his side seemed the perfect place to be.

Megan looked carefully at them both and half-smiled before turning. She pulled the curtains, shutting out the night that had arrived while their attention had been elsewhere, then went to the light switch for the room. "We should be in darkness first, right? I've been reading about the old traditions."

"This one is particularly metaphorical," Giles observed as Megan dimmed the lights. "It's the rebirth of the sun after months of darkness."

"I like it," she said in lowered tones, her silhouette moving across the room. "It feels magical. In the old-fashioned way, I mean. Not spells and the big power you two have, but magical, like stuff from when you're little."

Giles felt Ethan shift beside him and then his hand was being held and squeezed. "It is, Meglet," Ethan said softly. "This is true magic as much as anything Rupert and I do."

"Sometimes it's the little bits of magic in the most unexpected of places that can change your life," Giles said, thinking of a rundown flat with a broken down mattress and the beautiful painted boy who'd taught him that.

Megan got into place by the wall socket and asked, "Ready?"

Giles glanced to his side, where that beautiful painted boy sat all grown up and still showing him magic in unexpected places. Looking into Ethan's eyes, Giles smiled and said, "Ready."

"Ready," Ethan murmured in turn. There was a click and the room filled with motes of coloured light, slowly flashing. Ethan clapped appreciatively. "Glorious, Megan. Well done to both of us."

Light out of darkness, Giles thought as he and Ethan sat watching the twinkling lights. Metaphor indeed, and not just of the returning sun. Love and bonds and magic were just as much a beacon in the darkness as the sun.

Ethan took Giles' hand again and reached out to Megan with his free hand, who came to them and sat on the floor between their legs. Together they gazed at the sparkling tree, or at least the other two did. But Giles was staring at Ethan, and as he did, Ethan squeezed his hand and suddenly Giles could see the patterns again.

Just for a few seconds.

***

"I'm getting a soda," Megan said, heading for the kitchen. "You want anything?"

"Hmm," Ethan said, playing for time as he thought about it. "Yes, you could bring me in something from the Christmas choccie."

"I should've guessed," she teased.

Ethan put his book down beside him on the sofa and stretched. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and just like Ray Davis had once said, Ethan had got no need to worry. Rupert was in the study working on something, his presence reassuringly close by. Ethan, Megan and the monstrous puppy had been sharing a companionable silence in the living room, each engaged with their own projects or thoughts.

As Megan came back in, Ethan moved to the edge of the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. "Come and sit with me, sweetheart."

She frowned as she obeyed. "Uh-oh."

He raised an eyebrow. "Girls without guilty consciences shouldn't react that way just because a little chat is in the offing."

"Watchers who aren't planning to have embarrassing talks shouldn't act so serious over soda and candy," Megan retorted then sighed. "Let's get it over with."

Ethan took the slab of fruit and nut and broke off a good portion, putting the rest on the table. He ate it slowly, saying nothing, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked in apparent admiration at the Christmas tree.

"Y'know, getting it over with generally involves actually doing it," Megan pointed out.

He brushed imaginary chocolate crumbs from his trousers and settled back into the corner of the sofa, smiling slightly at her. "So impatient. So convinced this is something bad. Perhaps I just wanted to ask how you were, or maybe subject you to another apology."

"Are you?"

"More or less."

"So you're not going to lecture me on the evils of moving too fast?"

"What?" Ethan asked, honestly bewildered. "Why on... Megan, that was my fault. I encouraged you when I knew better."

Now it was Megan who looked bewildered. "My sleeping with Jade was your fault? In what universe?"

Oh. That was what she had meant. He rubbed his face. "Your sex life is hardly my business as your Watcher. As your friend maybe, if you want to chat about things. But as your Watcher that's very far from my job description." He paused and sighed. "Ah... are you feeling bad about it? I'm asking as a friend. Don't answer if it makes you uncomfortable."

Megan gave a half-shrug. "I don't know."

"At the time, did you feel good about it?" Ethan was quite convinced this conversation broke every rule in the Watcher/Slayer handbook and could only hope he wasn't doing any damage by continuing it.

"Yeah." She blushed and looked away. "It was... nice."

"Well then. Not all that bad a first time," he said encouragingly. "And next time it won't seem so new and strange, will it? You'll know a little about how it goes."

Megan looked back at him, eyes wide. "That's all you're going to say about it?"

He looked a little helplessly at her. What more did she want him to say? He searched desperately about in his mind for advice he could give about sex, and lesbian sex at that. "Um... well. I believe there's something called a dental dam that–" He stopped as Megan's expression grew quickly horrified. "Meglet, am I missing the point here? As I truly don't– oh. Oh right, I see. You think I should be muttering something dark and censorious about sex outside of a longstanding relationship, don't you?" He gave her a wry look. "Don't you know me better than that?"

"You said Jade didn't deserve that gift," Megan said with a frown. "Shouldn't that mean I should be more careful where I... give it?"

The helpless feeling was back. "I'm really not the right person to ask. Truly. Because I think you have to ask yourself what significance sex has for you and act accordingly. For some people it's recreational, for others it's... symbolic of a lot of things. Jade didn't deserve anything of you, not a single moment of your time, but..." He sighed again. "The sex only matters if it matters."

Megan shook her head. "I don't know why I thought you were going to go all... parental on me," she said and impulsively leant over and hugged him.

That was a relief and very pleasing. He hugged her back, unable to quell a rather fatuous smile from appearing on his face. "Probably a good thing I'm destined to never have kids, eh?"

"Not the natural way at least," she teased.

"Not in any way I fervently hope. Can you imagine me trying to look after a baby? I'd probably put it in the microwave or something to try to dry it off."

Megan giggled. "Somehow I think you'd be better than that."

"You think I'd just hang it on the line to dry?" He grinned, amused at the idea of his ineptness.

"I think you're going to be everybody's favourite uncle."

He laughed. "Only because I'll be the one encouraging mischief all the time." His eyes narrowed as he really heard what she had said. "Who's going to make me an uncle?"

"Now you're going all parental," Megan said, laughing.

He smacked her leg lightly and said in a mock-petulant tone. "I can't be your parent. You don't treat me with anywhere near enough respect."

"You were the one who told me not to," she pointed out, still grinning.

"Yes, and it was good advice," he answered more seriously. "I think my reaction to what Jade did shows quite clearly that I'm not the wisest of souls."

"I've been thinking about that," Megan said, pulling one leg up and wrapping her arms around it. She rested her head on her knee and looked at Ethan. "I don't like you hurting people for me, but... you did it for me."

"It possibly wasn't the best way to demonstrate my affection for you," he admitted glumly. "I just hated you hurting, but of course, what I did only made you hurt more."

"Well, yeah, I do kinda wish you'd directed your energies differently," she admitted, "but you cared enough to do something, and that doesn't hurt at all."

He gave her a rueful look and rather blithely promised, "I'll always be there for you, Megan, and next time you need support I'll try to provide it in a more acceptable manner." He clasped a hand over his heart and winked at her. "By my solemn oath."

"It was kinda funny," Megan said with what looked like an almost unwilling smile. "Jade's reaction, I mean. I just felt sorry for all those dogs."

"I promise I won't abuse any more dogs in your name." He patted her leg briskly. "But you have to promise me something in return."

"What?"

"Don't give up. Don't go back into hiding. You were blossoming the night you met Jade, starting to find yourself. Don't let her spoil that."

Megan glanced down and didn't answer for a long moment. When she finally did, it was in a quiet contemplative voice. "I'll do my best."

He felt a need to clarify. "I'm not saying you should feel obliged to go to clubs and parties if the lifestyle doesn't suit you. Really, I'm not. Just... just don't live your life behind a mask." The staggering irony that it was him telling her this wasn't lost on Ethan.

She looked at him, wearing a tiny smile, but when she answered it was obvious she was serious. "I won't let what happened make me hide behind a mask. I promise."

"Good." He smiled. "Now was that chat really so terrible as to deserve such a harsh 'uh oh' then?"

"Well, you did actually use the words 'dental dams'...."

He snorted, then sniggered, then laughed outright. "Guess what you're getting for Christmas, Meglet..."


	17. Chapter 17

"So Ethan really knows nothing about this?" Megan asked, keeping a tight hold on Gwydion's lead, not that the puppy needed it in Giles' opinion. He'd told Gwydion very clearly the kind of behaviour he required while they were here and expected nothing less than complete obedience from the wolfhound.

"Yes, Ethan really knows nothing about this," he replied to the Slayer's question. "Consider it payback for the way Gwydion came into our lives."

They were at Battersea Dog's Home, waiting in the office of one of the specialist staff. They were there to meet dogs and puppies who had shown a potential with magic – recognising it and being attracted or at least unbothered by it. The Rescue and Rehabilitation charity had a long held arrangement with the Council of Watchers, who selected a few dogs every year to join their canine team.

This season, Giles had decided to inspect the potential dogs himself as he had a special plan in mind.

"And he really wants a dog of his own?" Megan asked, sounding a little doubtful.

Giles nodded. "He does. He just doesn't want to want one. He had a puppy when he was a boy, and it got run over, so he's a bit gun-shy."

"Poor Ethan," Megan said sadly. "His childhood sucked. What he's told us about it, anyway. I guess he's told you more." It was a fairly obvious ploy for more information.

"A little," Giles acknowledged without being more forthcoming. "For the main part it wasn't a happy time for him, and he doesn't like to talk about it."

Megan's free hand went to her neck and the silver owl that hung there. It had become a common mannerism for the girl. "Did you ever meet his family?"

"I met his father once." That brief, unpleasant encounter was fresher in Giles' memory than he'd like, as was the memory of the bruises that had been paternally inflicted on Ethan. It was one of the things that had helped make up Giles' mind about leaving school and moving in with Ethan. He'd wanted to make sure Ethan was safe.

"That bad, huh?"

Before Giles could answer, the door opened, and three kennel hands, each with a dog on a leash, plus Mrs Rowe, the specialist trainer, walked in. Giles looked immediately to Gwydion, but true to his orders, his dog remained stretched out on the floor, raising only his head.

The new dogs were quite distinctive from each other. There was a neatly trimmed poodle that bounced towards Giles before the kennel hand told it off and made it sit. The next was a big bruiser of a dog that was at least part rottweiller, but despite its intimidating appearance, it seemed quite nervous, requiring reassurance from its handler before it would settle. Lastly, there was a black and white puppy with long hair that was pure mongrel as far as Giles could tell. It was clearly untrained as well, judging by the way the kennel hand was having to kneel to keep the animal still.

"These are the three dogs with the most obvious potential, Mr Giles," Mrs Rowe told him. She was a pleasant woman, younger than he was, but with a serious dedication to her work. "The poodle is Fang–" She stopped at Giles' raised eyebrow and explained, "She required some dentistry when she arrived here. The name was quite suitable at the time. She showed one hundred percent recognition of the impregnated toy during testing, but was rather over-enthusiastic in her response to it. She would require firm training in my opinion."

"She does seem quite... energetic," Giles commented, watching the poodle's attention wander around the room in what looked like the canine equivalent of attention deficit disorder, which considering Ethan's own bent for bouts of hyperactivity...

No. Having to deal with Ethan and a dog with that same temperament would drive Giles stark raving bonkers in short order. Besides, he just couldn't see Ethan with a poodle.

"What about the others?" he asked, looking at the remaining two candidates.

"Snuggles here," Mrs Rowe said, cringing a little as she indicated the larger dog - apparently in reaction to the name, "is in need of a lot of care after considerable early life trauma. Personally I'd say he wasn't suitable for a life as a working dog, but he certainly passed the initial testing with flying colours. The young fluffball at the end is only a few months old. Her name is Ronnie."

Since Giles' intention was to find a pet for Ethan, Snuggles' unsuitability as a working dog wasn't necessarily a drawback, and if anyone could understand overcoming early life trauma it was Ethan. So Snuggles was certainly a possibility, although a name change would assuredly be in order.

"Would you care to test them further now or see them out in the yard first?"

"We're here now, so we might as well get on with the testing first," Giles said. Working or not, a dog in their household would have to be comfortable with and around magic, and the testing would help him see their reactions.

Mrs Rowe nodded. "Fang first?" she suggested. The poodle had crossed-eyes, Giles suddenly noticed.

"Can we see the puppy first?" Megan piped up. "Ronnie."

Giles glanced at her, then back to the puppy. "I don't see why not...?" he asked Mrs. Rowe.

The woman took the pup's lead from the kennel hand, and all three helpers then left, taking the other two candidate dogs with them. As the door shut, Gwydion suddenly got to his feet and barked once at the small black and white dog, who tipped her head to one side and gazed intelligently at the wolfhound. It was almost as if some kind of canine psychic communication was going on.

That was certainly promising, if a bit out of the ordinary, but then again, when had anything about their household been ordinary?

Mrs Rowe observed the strange communion between the dogs without comment. "Ronnie has had no training beyond the basic, but we believe her to be very intelligent. She's good-natured and very energetic, even for a puppy. In the testing, she didn't perform at all well until she watched Fang at work. Somehow, despite the fact we keep rewards to a minimum during the procedure, she seemed to work out what we wanted. After that she found the relevant item every single test."

"Interesting." Giles looked at the puppy in a new light. That kind of intelligent reasoning was unusual in any youngster, be they human, canine, or gorthos demon. It seemed that there was more to Ronnie than met the eye at first glance. "Shall we see how she reacts to tests now?"

Mrs Rowe nodded. "I'll let her off the lead, but be warned. She's bouncy and not yet very good at obeying commands." She bent to unfasten the leash from the pup's collar.

Megan leant forward in her seat. "She has beautiful eyes."

Mrs Rowe smiled up at the Slayer before releasing her grip on Ronnie's collar. "Yes, she does rather. We think she must have a lot of Border collie in her make up." She then let go of the puppy's collar and straightened up. Ronnie immediately propelled herself at Gwydion.

Giles half-stood, wanting to prevent the impending puppy collision, but Gwydion just let the smaller dog bounce off of him and barked again, wagging his tail.

There then followed a lot of mutual sniffing and licking. "It's as if they're old friends," Mrs Rowe said in a bemused voice. "Or family. Will your selection today be likely to be working closely with the wolfhound?"

"They'll be living in the same house, yes." It certainly seemed like someone had made their decision, but Giles still wanted to test Ronnie's reaction to the sorts of magic she'd have to live with before making his own. "Gwydion, if I may have Ronnie's attention for a moment...?"

The wolfhound stepped back and hunkered down again. When the mongrel pup seemed to want to use the opportunity to bounce all over the larger dog, Gwydion barked, just once, and Ronnie backed off, looking for all the world as if chagrined.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Giles tossed a tiny glowing will-of-the-wisp out, directing it to float in front of the puppy. It was designed to be something that most animals would not understand and therefore be nervous around. Those with the talent and temperament to be useful to the Council would be attracted to the ball of magic instead.

Ronnie, however, seemed neither scared nor attracted. She looked briefly at the ball and then back at Gwydion, yapping a couple of times. Gwydion stared at her, blinking his dark brown eyes slowly. Another yap, another blink, and then Ronnie suddenly jumped straight at the glowing ball. She ended up on Megan's lap, the magic ball between her teeth being shaken like a captured rat while the puppy growled happily.

Megan laughed and held onto Ronnie. "We really don't have to see the other two, do we?" she asked, grinning.

"It does seem like our choice has been made for us," Giles said, turning back to Mrs. Rowe. "How soon can we take her?"

"Oh, a week perhaps. Before Christmas, certainly." Mrs Rowe left the puppy with Megan for the time being and went to sit at her desk, pulling some blank forms from a drawer. "I can't vouch for her trainability, you understand, although if she's to work in partnership with your wolfhound, I doubt that will be a problem."

"I don't think we'll have any problems managing." Already Giles was beginning to wonder what sort of pattern connections Ethan was going to see around the new dog.

She passed over the forms for Giles to sign in his official capacity for the Council. Technically, the dog was not destined for Council work, but as Ethan was on the payroll and the pup was for him, Giles found he could use his position with an almost clear conscience.

Mrs Rowe then stood, coming back around the desk and taking Ronnie back from a clearly not entirely willing Megan. "We'll be in contact with your office within the next week, Mr Giles. I hope Ronnie will prove as successful as the other dogs the Council has had from us."

"I'm sure she'll be just what is needed," Giles said, smiling as he imagined Ethan's reaction.

***

Ethan was mooching. There was no other word for it. After several days of Rupert's continuous company, suddenly finding himself alone in the house without even the monstrous pit pony for company had left Ethan listless and unable to settle.

He found himself wandering from room to room, poking pointlessly at things, adjusting ornaments that didn't need adjusting and picking at the peeling wallpaper of the landing. The telly was all tedious to the extreme, and every single CD or piece of vinyl Rupert possessed was plebeian and appallingly dated and, let's face it, heterosexual. If they must live in the past, couldn't they at least have some Bowie, Velvet Underground or T-Rex?

He didn't even have any porn to read or watch that he didn't know off by heart. It was insufferable. Really.

It didn't help that Rupert had been so mysterious about where he was going that Ethan couldn't apparently go to as well. Ethan guessed it must relate to rapidly approaching Christmas, and he was himself going to need time away from Rupert at some point to pick up something he was having made. But still, he'd been spoiled rotten by his husband's company since Rupert had agreed to stop fighting the bond, and it had been wonderful.

And this? This was just frustrating.

When the knock at the door came, Ethan couldn't decide if he was grateful for the distraction or annoyed at the interruption of his sulk. When he opened the door to see Buffy there on her own, he was even less certain how he felt.

"Hello," he said, trying his best at a friendly smile. "Um, he's out. I'm all on my ownsome. You're, er, welcome to come in, of course, but I... Well, your choice." He stepped to the side to give her space to come in, should she want to.

Buffy seemed to hesitate, but then her features flashed through determination before settling into a deliberately bright smile as she stepped inside. "I'll wait. It'll give us a chance to... talk."

Oh. Oh goodie. Pulling a sour expression at her back, Ethan shut the door. In the living room, before any unpleasant 'talking' had a chance to start, he quickly asked, "Drink of some sort?"

She gave a half-shrug. "If you're having one..."

Escaping to the kitchen, he looked between kettle and coffee maker and opted for the latter as, if necessary, he could make his mugful Irish. "Do feel free to switch the telly on," he called through the open door, turning as he did so. He nearly dropped the jug in his hand when he found Buffy in the doorway watching him silently. He tried his hardest not to glare at her. Truly, he did.

If he didn't fully succeed, Buffy didn't react. "So did Giles tell you about offering me a job?"

Ethan nodded. "Congratulations. Well deserved and exciting position you've got for yourself." He turned and filled the side of the coffee machine with water.

"Thanks." She didn't move; Ethan could feel her eyes still on him. "It's going to mean I'll probably be checking in here pretty regular between trips."

He shut his eyes, wincing, while his back remained to her. "Yes, I'd realised that."

"Giles really cares about you." Buffy observed, her tone suggesting that it wasn't a non sequitur to her.

He understood that she was trying to create a peace between them, however uneasy, and he did appreciate that. After spooning the coffee in and switching the machine on, he turned back to her. "He loves you too, Buffy, albeit in a different way. I daresay we can learn to tolerate each other for his sake." He looked down briefly. "I'm not sure if you'll accept my apology for the tattoo, but if you will..." He forced his gaze back up. "I'm sorry."

She inclined her head and simply said, "Thank you."

He gave her a twisted up smile and turned back to the counter, busying himself finding mugs and a tray. "I understand yours will be a jetsetting life from now on."

"Yeah, pretty much. Have destiny, will travel. I go, I slay, then maybe get a bit of sightseeing in." Buffy paused and then continued, "And you're working on being all settled and domestic."

It was odd how that thought still simultaneously pleased and embarrassed him. He went with the pleased; it felt nicer. "Yes. I'm even trying to learn how to cook without accidentally provoking a world war. Will you be with us for Christmas?"

Buffy tilted her head to the side, regarding him. "Would I be welcome?"

He answered honestly. "I think it would make him very happy were you to join us all on Christmas day. And whatever makes Rupert happy... Well, I want it. Yes, you'd be welcome."

Surprisingly, Buffy smiled at him. It wasn't a big smile, but it was real. "You've changed, Ethan."

He snorted quietly. "Quite a lot, actually." He frowned as he added, "Although as you rather embarrassingly witnessed the other day, I'm still quite capable of bad decisions. Sorry about that."

"You were standing up for your Slayer." Buffy shrugged. "Might not have been the best of methods, but I can't argue with your intentions."

Feeling a sense of mild disbelief that Buffy of all people seemed to understand at least the whys of his cursing of the callous Jade, Ethan smiled at her before reaching up for one of the Christmas biscuit tins from the overhead cupboard. The two of them being almost friendly seemed a good enough excuse to break some open. "Continental assortment or M&S luxury chocolate?" he asked, undecided himself.

"Save the chocolate for when Xander and Dawn are here." Buffy grinned a bit conspiratorially. "They're the chocoholics."

He grinned back at her. "Continental it is. We're having goose for Christmas, by the way. Megan's choice." He giggled as he turned to pour the coffee. "You may want to pack sandwiches, just in case. But rest assured, I won't be allowed in the kitchen."

"Don't feel too bad about it. They won't let me in the kitchen on holidays anymore either. Of course," Buffy continued, "that's more because I turn into super control-freak than because of my cooking. The one Thanksgiving I did cook, the food turned out great. We just had to fight Native American spirits before we could eat."

"I've heard a lot about that," Ethan admitted. "Including the, um, mystical syphilis."

"Yeah, Xander kinda fixates on that part," Buffy agreed. "It was a rough holiday, but the turkey was moist and delicious."

It was obvious which part Buffy fixated upon. "Perhaps they _should_ allow you into the kitchen. Know anything about geese?" He picked up the tray and walked towards her.

Buffy backed out of the doorway, giving Ethan room to manoeuvre. "They honk," she answered after a moment. "And some come from Canada."

"Vicious bastards, actually," he told her as he put the tray down on the coffee table. "They attack en masse, all white feathers and clacking bills. The more dead geese I see, the better."

"Talking from personal experience?" Buffy asked as she sat on the sofa and reached for one of the mugs.

He smirked; he couldn't help it. "There's something about me they don't care for."

"Aha. Birds of discernment." Buffy's tone made it clear she was just teasing.

He gave her a look of mock challenge and opened the seal around the biscuit tin. "I can assure you I had nothing to do with the manufacture of these comestibles," he said as he offered the tin to her. "Take as many as you want. Only not the puffy ones with the raspberry jam because they come with a rare curse."

"Giles tried that once to keep us away from the jelly doughnuts."

He giggled. "Well, you note we don't say what rare curse." There were, he was finding, actually quite a lot of things he'd like to talk to Buffy about, now that they actually were conversing civilly, but all involved subjects that were potentially difficult. Perhaps he needed a different approach. "Is there anything you'd like to know? About Rupert and me, or just yours truly? You can ask, confidentiality and lack of offence-taking assured."

Buffy sipped at her coffee as she seemed to mull that over. "Really," she finally said, "the only thing that matters to me is that Giles is safe and happy. Or as safe as any of us are in this line of business. At least he hasn't gotten hit on the head recently. That he's told me - he hasn't, has he?"

"Only by a Christmas bauble." Ethan gestured at the tree. "That was actually being aimed at me by my ever so respectful Slayer."

"I suppose that Christmas ornaments can be excused. Was it glass or plastic?" Buffy shook her head. "I'm getting off-topic. My point is that all I want is to see Giles happy. And that's what I am seeing. He's happy with you, consistently happier than I've ever seen him before."

Ethan smiled softly, remembering the awed joy on Rupert's face when he'd allowed him to see the patterns of the bond between them. "I do my humble best."

"I've seen that," she acknowledged, "and I believe you do." She took a deep breath and looked up from her mug to meet his eyes. "So please realise that what I'm about to say isn't an accusation or anything, and that I'd say the same to anyone who got involved with my... family."

Ethan closed his eyes. "I know. I know what you'd do if I hurt him because I'd do the same or worse to anyone that did. Please, Buffy..." He opened his eyes again. "That man is my husband, but he's more even than that. We're... has he told you about the bond?"

She shook her head slowly.

He rubbed at his face. "It's probably not my place to tell you, but it's a bit late not to now, eh?" He gave her a half-smile. "Do you at least know about the prophecy?"

"The big mysterious thing you and Giles are destined to do that a whole bunch of nasty Chaos mages don't want you to?" Buffy nodded. "Giles mentioned it. Gotta say, it's refreshing to have a prophecy that doesn't come with my name engraved on it."

Ethan very particularly didn't mention his suspicion that her sister was involved. "We don't know everything yet, but it seems we are to be guardians of some sort. For many many generations, pairs of mages have been born, one whose talent was wild magic, the other who instinctively followed order. These mages, working as a bonded pair, are meant to stop whatever it is that some force of Chaos, maybe, wants to bring about. It's all a little hazy really." He frowned.

Buffy shrugged. "These things usually are, at least in the beginning. Take it from one Chosen to another."

"Most–" He grimaced. "Make that all of the bonded pairs before now haven't made it. They have been found and destroyed in one way or another by the malign Chaos followers before they had a chance to bond properly and become the force of strength that they were meant to be. Rupert and I... Well, hopefully, we'll be the ones who make it."

"You will." Buffy looked directly at him and there was nothing but total belief in her eyes. "None of those other pairs had what you have."

He was almost scared to ask. "And what's that?"

"A whole bunch of Slayers and Slayer friends who have your back." She smiled, eyes glinting, and Ethan was struck by the power and confidence that seemed to fill her slight frame. He was even more struck when it finally hit home that he and Buffy were now on the same side. Indeed, that he had a side at all. He'd been pretty much nagging Rupert to acknowledge the importance of the prophecy and their bond, and yet somehow it was only now that Ethan truly realised that he was not only on the side of the heroes suddenly, but a major player.

"That's good to know," he said, smiling and trying his hardest not to let his fear show.

"One thing I've learned is to never listen when prophecies or traditions or bad guys or whatever insist that you have to do... whatever it is you're supposed to do alone. The prophecies never mention asking for help, doesn't mean you can't."

Ethan nodded. "One thing about this particular prophecy, it's absolutely vital neither of us tries to go it alone. That's got to be better than being a Slayer was. Less isolating, I mean." He loaded his tone with sympathy, which was actually surprisingly genuine.

Buffy smiled and reached for another biscuit. "Then you're already ahead of the curve. Just remember that you've got more than just the two of you, and I'm telling you this because Giles is as bad at asking for help as I am. I'm hoping you're going to be less stubborn about it."

"Oh, you can rely on me to selfishly drag others into danger to save my own skin and his." He raised his mug to her in an ironic toast and finished his coffee.

"Good. Because I like Giles' skin right where it is."

"So do I rather."

"Then I expect to hear when things are going all... portenty, so I can come back and help."

He looked at her seriously. "You better make sure I have a way of contacting you then as Rupert's not going to volunteer it, I don't think."

"I'll give you my cell phone number." She frowned. "Guess I should look into getting a new plan if I'm going to be all jet set Slayer now."

He smiled. "I promise I'll call if things get even a little Old Testament around here. Now, in the spirit of this new alliance, I don't suppose you know where he's taken Megan today, do you?"

Buffy lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sure if Giles wanted you to know, he would have told you."

He lifted an eyebrow in turn. "I'm sure if Rupert would want you to know about dangerous events occurring while you're away then he'd tell you himself."

"I'm sure there's less danger Christmas shopping than dealing with prophecies." She frowned. "Though I guess that could depend on how crowded the mall is... or if the prophecy was about a, uh, demonic mall... or the enemy was a big blue people-dissolving demon who I could only blow up with a rocket launcher."

Ethan brightened, ignoring most of the incomprehensible babble and focusing on the salient point. "So they _are_ Christmas shopping then?"

Buffy held up a hand. "I am neither confirming nor denying."

Ethan sighed. "How am I meant to know if what I'm getting him is suitable or enough if I don't know what he's getting me?" He decided to try and play on her sympathies. "This is all quite new to me, you know, a proper Christmas."

"Guess that whole worshipping Chaos thing would cut down on holiday celebrations, huh?" she asked, not seeming particularly sympathetic. Then she changed the subject slightly. "What have you thought about getting Giles?"

Chaos had had its own feast days, all but one of them moveable as was the nature of the beast. but that wasn't the point. "I'm having something made for him, but I'm not sure it's enough."

"He can be hard to buy for," Buffy commiserated. "I mean, what do you get the Watcher who's got and done everything? Except be a grocer or a fighter pilot, though I guess running a magic shop is sort of like being a grocer. Just with really exotic ingredients."

He stared at her. "That seemed a particularly surreal tangent, even for one of you lot. Is there something that you're referring to that I don't know about?"

"It's just something Giles told me years ago. Before he found out he had to grow up to be a Watcher, he'd wanted to be a fighter pilot or a grocer."

That was... interesting. Ethan filed the fact away for later contemplation.

"What did you want to be when you were a kid?" Buffy asked curiously after a moment.

What did any child want? To be loved and approved of? Safe and warm? Reliably fed and nurtured? As he thought those things he remembered the dream he had shared with Rupert that had ending in an attic with a chest full of costumes. He saw grey-green eyes in a little boy's face, reddened with recent tears, under a mop of blond hair.

Not really focusing on Buffy at all, although he smiled in her general direction, Ethan said, "I think what I wanted most was a friend who would stay."

***

The study door opened, and Ethan stuck his head through. "Am I allowed in here currently?" he asked amiably.

"Of course," Giles said, pleased that it was automatic. He turned in his chair toward the door and held a hand out to Ethan with a smile.

Ethan smiled back and came in, shutting the door behind him. He bent to kiss Giles when he reached him. "The house started to feel very quiet with you shut away in here and Megan and the monster out."

"I'm sorry," Giles apologised, gesturing at his desk. "You know how I get when I'm involved in something. I'll try to not get so lost in the work."

"Enthralling stuff, is it?" Ethan asked, casting a curious glance at the desktop.

Giles instinctively moved to cover up his notes, but stopped himself. There was more than one way to pull away after all, and he wasn't supposed to be doing any of them. "Yes, it is rather," he said, and taking a deep breath, handed his notebook to Ethan.

He watched as a crease formed between Ethan's eyebrows. As pages were turned increasingly rapidly, Ethan's body tensed and he drew back from Giles. "Rupert, what...?"

"Know thy enemy. I realised that I knew very little about Chaos groups and beliefs. I've been trying to rectify that lack." He spoke quietly, matter-of-factly, studying Ethan as he did so.

"Ah. Thought you might have been checking up on my past," Ethan said with studied casualness. "Glad I'm wrong." He handed the book back to Giles.

"If I had been doing that, I would've been ignoring my greatest source of information," Giles said bluntly. "You."

Ethan still seemed a little stiff and withdrawn. "You're rather doing that anyway, aren't you? Surely if you're researching Chaos, asking someone who worshipped it for decades would be a good place to start."

"You've said that you felt uncomfortable talking about... those days," Giles replied. "That there were secrets."

"No more secrets," Ethan said quietly, reaching out a hand to cup Giles' face. "Remember?"

Giles closed his eyes and leant into the touch. It really was amazing how good even a light caress felt. Why had he been resisting this deepening of their bond when it made him feel like this? "I remember," he said softly.

He felt the weight on his legs as Ethan settled down on his lap. "Ask then. I'm not claiming this will be easy to talk about, but I made you a promise. Ask."

The first question Giles heard coming from his mouth before he'd even consciously decided to ask it was, "Why? What was the attraction?"

"Initially?" Ethan shrugged. "It gave me a way of protecting myself at home and with other kids, or at least getting revenge afterwards. It gave me that feeling of control that was, as you know, somewhat lacking in my childhood. But I suppose you mean the more formal worship, don't you?" He inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes." And if Giles was being honest with himself, he wanted to know not only in order to understand their enemies, but to understand Ethan better. This was a part of Ethan he never had a claim on, the very thing that had drawn Ethan away from him when they were young.

"That didn't really start until after you left. A year or so on, I suppose. While you were there I was merely playing with it, like any other brat with a craze to follow. Afterwards? Well, it was something to do, something I was good at... something that wanted me." Ethan shrugged again. "I'm back to it gave me a feeling of control, I suppose." He wasn't exactly making it sound attractive.

"It never seemed to be about control to me." Giles spoke slowly, remembering his own brushes with it back when they were young and still together. Remembering the way that Ethan had kept searching for more and more dangerous things for them to do, more intense sensations, until it had inevitably blown up in their faces. "It seemed more like... a self-destructive hunger."

Ethan pulled back and gave him a sharply reproachful look.

Giles made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat. "Help me understand then. Help me understand why I wasn't enough – you kept us taking greater and greater chances, needed greater and greater highs. If it wasn't self-destructive hunger, what was it?"

Ethan's gaze dropped, and he looked rather wretched. After a pause he mumbled, "I just wanted things to feel real."

"And I wasn't enough to do that?" Giles asked softly, a bit of bewildered hurt creeping into his own voice despite his best efforts.

"Sometimes. Sometimes you were." Ethan attempted to snuggle closer, but Giles' study chair, while roomy, was not really designed for the position the two of them were in. "Sometimes you were too good to be real. So much of me is... was... dead inside. Numb. Anaethetised. I... Rupert, please."

Giles shifted them both so that he could pull Ethan close against him. "And now?"

Ethan pressed his face against Giles' hair. "You're real. You're the realest thing I've ever known."

"Do you feel... awake now? Alive?"

"When I'm with you."

Giles wanted to ask why he was enough now when he hadn't been back then, but he wasn't sure if it would serve any purpose. Or if there would be an answer he wanted to hear.

Ethan shifted restlessly. "What aren't you saying, dearheart?"

There were drawbacks, Giles thought, to complete openness, but still he voiced his question despite his reluctance. "What's changed? Why am I enough now when before I–"

"Because there's no dark Chaos in me now, of course," Ethan replied as if it were obvious, and perhaps it was. "There's nothing getting in the way of... us."

Giles shook his head. "I wish I'd known back then that I was fighting such a... rival. I didn't even know I was in a fight until it was too late, and Chaos had won you."

"Chaos never won me," Ethan denied. "I was the grudgingly accepted cast off." It wasn't good to still hear so much bitterness in Ethan's voice even now.

"You ran." Without thinking about it, Giles tightened his embrace as he spoke. "I couldn't continue playing with Chaos and taking those kinds of chances, and you ran. From where I stood that was a pretty definitive statement that Chaos meant more than I did."

"Yes, I ran," Ethan agreed, not fighting the embrace, but tense in Giles' arms. "But only after you told me that it was over, that you were leaving. Did you really expect me to hang around in that miserable graveyard and let you break my heart further? You blamed me for what had happened. And... and you were right to." The admission seemed to cost him, even now.

"I blamed us for what had happened, not just you, and yes, the way things had been, that had to be over. I couldn't continue on that way, taking those chances. but that was the lifestyle, what we were doing, the risks we were taking. It wasn't you. You ran though. As soon as I said I couldn't continue playing with fire." Giles sighed, feeling an echo of the sadness and devastation he'd felt back then. "You didn't stay long enough for me to ask you to come with me."

Ethan's body had gone rigid. "No," he said, very tightly. "It wasn't like that. You told me that we couldn't go on. That you were going. You wouldn't even come back to the flat."

"I told you we couldn't go on the way we had been. I wouldn't go back to the flat and just pretend we could. I needed us to make decisions before we did. Promises. Resolutions." He closed his eyes, remembering how hard it had been to find the words to broach the subject. Obviously he'd done a terrible job.

Ethan spoke slowly, visibly working it out for himself as he went. "I thought you were ending it with me and started screaming inside... and you thought when I ran that meant I... that I was choosing Chaos over you. Oh, sodding hell, Rupert. What a farce." He started to struggle to his feet. "It's a bloody farce. Come on."

Giles allowed Ethan to pull him to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"Finchley." East Finchley, Giles remembered, was the location of the cemetery where Randall was buried.

"Why?" he asked, even though he knew how Ethan's mind worked well enough that he could probably come up with the answer, but that wasn't a place he could feel comfortable. It had been years after Randall's funeral before he'd been able to bring himself to go back at all.

"Because we need to," Ethan answered simply, meeting Giles' gaze with an earnest expression.

He was right, Giles knew, no matter how much he hated that place. "All right."

In silence, more or less, they dressed for the damp winter's afternoon outside. An afternoon not at all unlike the morning of Randall's funeral, which Giles realised with a small shock had had its anniversary a few days ago. Perhaps that was the subconscious reason why their conversation had gone in the direction that it had.

Giles stood by the lobby door, watching Ethan write a note for Megan. Then Ethan rose, and without either one of them seeming to initiate the momentum, they ended up in each other's arms for a quick, tight hug.

"We could just go upstairs and shag," Giles suggested, although not seriously. Well, not totally seriously.

"Isn't that my line?" Ethan asked with a soft chuckle. "Come on. We can do this. I'll drive if you like."

"That might be a good idea," Giles said, handing over the keys. That way he wouldn't be able to back out. Ethan took the keys and a kiss before heading out of the house, Giles following close behind.

It was early afternoon so the traffic was quite reasonable, and Finchley was at least on the same side of London as where they lived these days. Back in their youth, it had been a lot harder to get to, but Randall's parents had wanted him buried close to where he had grown up.

Every once in a while as he drove, Ethan would flick a concerned glance at Giles, but he said nothing. The silence between them was companionable and not at all uncomfortable, but it did have a touch of funereal solemnity about it that Giles could have done without. There had been too much cause for that in his life. He supposed at least that he should be glad it wasn't raining this time.

His mind, quite naturally, kept going back to that day years ago and the complete mess at communication that they'd apparently made back then. He didn't think they could have misunderstood each other more if they'd resorted to charades instead of words.

As they drew close to Finchley, if not quite to the Cemetery, Ethan murmured, "My thoughts seem stuck on a rather monotonous merry-go-round."

"Yours too?" Giles replied drily.

"I just keep thinking about all that time. Wasted." Ethan's voice was, if anything, even quieter than his last comment. Giles had to strain to hear over the engine noise. "But then I remember what we've been told, that one or both of us would have died or been irrevocably corrupted had we stayed together." He flicked a small sad smile at Giles. "As I said. Circles."

Giles wasn't so sure of that inevitability, but kept silent about his doubts. Really, what would be the point of dwelling on what might have been? Not that he was having much luck stopping himself doing just that. "It's not a pleasant thought that we spent all those years at odds because of a misunderstanding."

Giles noticed Ethan's hands tense on the wheel then relax again. "Probably best not to," he said. "Think about it, I mean. Or perhaps... Perhaps that's why I'm taking us here, so that we can mourn? Twenty-five years, Rupert. God..." His hands once more tensed.

"I know." Reaching over, Giles pulled one of Ethan's hands off the wheel and into his grip. "Do you feel as much of a stupid berk as I do?"

"I'm angry," Ethan replied, not sounding it, but Giles accepted it as fact all the same. "So very angry with both of us. Christ, I..." He squeezed Giles' hand and took his own back to operate the gearstick as they turned onto the road that led down to the cemetery. "Let's wait until I'm not in charge of a moving vehicle for this."

"Wise precaution," Giles agreed, thinking the only thing more stupid than wasting twenty-five years would be dying in a car crash because they were discussing wasting twenty-five years.

So they remained quiet until Ethan pulled into a parking spot and stopped the BMW. The engine now still, the silence continued a few moments longer as they both stared out of the windscreen at the prospect of fields of gravestones and tombs and the long straight avenues dividing them. Eventually Ethan sighed and undid his seatbelt.

Giles did the same and then looked over to meet Ethan's gaze. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Then Ethan reached out his hand to Giles' face, his fingertips soft against Giles' cheek. "Come on. Let's do this. Salute the past and then celebrate the now."

"Yes," Giles said quietly, turning his head enough to kiss Ethan's fingers. Then he pulled back and opened the door to get out.

They walked side by side to the cemetery gate, coat collars high and scarves wrapped tight. Ethan suddenly gave a small laugh. "Um, can you remember roughly where...?"

"Uhh..." Giles looked around for a brief moment, getting his bearings. "This way, I think," he finally said, leading them along the path to the right.

The graves to start with were all very old, the stones weatherworn and lichen-covered, but as they walked, they entered a newer area spreading down a gentle slope. "Ah," Ethan said quietly. "Now I know where I am."

"Hasn't changed much, considering how much time has passed," Giles observed.

There were a few people about, tending graves or just walking, but people normally kept to themselves in places such as this, lost in their own thoughts, and Giles and Ethan were no exception. Still, when Giles felt Ethan's hand slip into his, he felt grateful.

"Let's make this different from the start," Ethan said.

"It already is," Giles replied, knowing there was no way that Ethan would let him push him away so easily, any more than he would let Ethan run.

Ethan nodded and squeezed Giles' hand. "Should we have brought flowers?"

"There should be flowers there already," Giles said. "I made arrangements years ago to have a bouquet sent every year on the anniversary of... you know."

Ethan snorted quietly, ruefully, staring at his feet as they walked. "More than I did. Rupert..." It was clearly the start to a question.

"What, love?"

Ethan's head raised, but only to watch a stone angel on a tomb as they passed it by. "I murdered them all in a way, didn't I?"

"Don't take on more guilt than is your share. The idea may have been yours, but we all agreed to do it." They walked for a bit in silence before Giles added, "Eyghon didn't kill Thom either – he had a heart attack."

"Oh." Ethan sounded a bit lost. "I never kept in touch. I didn't know."

"Neither did I," Giles said, feeling his own twinges of guilt at that. "I only found out when I tried to track everyone down after Philip ended up dead in the Sunnydale morgue."

"I don't know what I'm meant to feel about all this," Ethan admitted hollowly.

"You feel what you feel. There's no right or wrong to that." It had taken Giles years to accept that.

"But I don't know what I feel."

They had reached the grave. It showed evidence of being well attended to. There were almost fresh flowers in the metal vase and a couple of bouquets balanced against the headstone. Giles imagined Randall's parents or sister must have been here for the anniversary of his death.

"There are too many friends in too many graves," Giles murmured, staring at the tombstone. Too many people he cared about dead and in the ground.

Ethan said nothing. He stood with Giles awhile, but soon began to fidget in a way that took Giles back twenty-five years to when they'd last stood there together. He squeezed Ethan's hand, reminding them both that things were very, very different now.

"Whatever we do, we do together," he said quietly, affirming now what he should've back then.

"I feel odd," Ethan admitted. "Empty and... detached."

"I think," Giles said slowly, feeling his way as he spoke, "that we both came to terms with Eyghon and what happened to Randall years ago. We had to."

Ethan nodded. "It's not Randall that we've come here to mourn."

"No, it's not."

Ethan took a deep breath and turned to Giles. "Ask me to come with you."

"Come with me," Giles said, the words emerging with more intensity than he'd planned. Reaching out, he took hold of Ethan's free hand so that he had both of them. "I can't stay here, living this life. I have to leave, but I want you to come with me."

Far from feeling empty now it seemed, Ethan had to clench his eyes shut for a few moments, mastering something strong. Then his dark gaze met Giles', and he started simply with, "Yes. Yes, I'll go with you. Anywhere, to do anything. Wherever you go, I'll follow. Don't lea–" He shook his head, dismissing what he'd started to say. "Take me with you."

Giles tugged lightly on Ethan's hands, pulling him forward so he could wrap his arms around Ethan. "Always," he murmured, before emotion closed his throat up too much to speak.

Ethan hugged him tightly through the heavy coats they both wore. "Love, magic, destiny... always." He whispered it like a prayer.

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing.


End file.
